


Start A War

by stewardess



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Amnesia, Angst, Consent Issues, Cyborg!Erik, Cyborgs, Dubious Consent, First Time, Fix-It, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Power Dynamics, Romance, Sexbots
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-19
Updated: 2012-04-10
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:40:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 34,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/365068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stewardess/pseuds/stewardess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere between gratuitous sexbot porn and a thoughtful analysis of what it means to be human lies this story. Near-future AU. Mutants have full rights. Cyborgs have none. Featuring genetics expert and telepath Professor Charles Xavier, and Erik, a pleasure model cyborg with a mysterious past.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lock It Up And Leave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elaur](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elaur/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [[Chinese Translation] Start A War](https://archiveofourown.org/works/504760) by [knicco](https://archiveofourown.org/users/knicco/pseuds/knicco)



> Based on [Zimothy's prompt](http://zimothy.tumblr.com/post/19069854416). <3

"Hank, this will have to be quick– Oh god Hank!"

A sheet-covered body lay on a lab table. Charles immediately tried to connect with the body's mind, and there was _nothing_ , it was a corpse–

"I'm so sorry," Hank said. "It's a cyborg, I should have warned you."

Charles took a steadying breath. "Hank, you know where I stand on cyborgs."

Hank apologized some more, rambling about the cyborg showing up unexpectedly with the afternoon's lab equipment delivery, no one was more surprised than Hank, but now that the cyborg was here, Hank wanted to remind Charles it would be a tremendous help to have a cyborg lab assistant, and would it be possible to keep it, and…

"Charles?"

While speaking, Hank had moved to the lab table and pulled back the sheet, uncovering the cyborg down to the waist. For Charles, it was another shock, nearly as great as the first. The male cyborg's blond hair, perfect jaw, and unrealistically muscled-yet-slender physique had been seared into Charles's memory by an advertising campaign launched when Charles had been just twelve.

The cyborg's eyes were closed, and he was as still as death. Incongruously, Hank had placed a pillow under the cyborg's head, as if the cyborg needed to be kept comfortable.

"What's wrong with him?" Charles asked. 

"I'm not sure," Hank said. "I didn't pick up anything with a scan. He has no power. Until he's recharged, I can't do any diagnostics."

Charles belatedly noticed the charging pad under the cyborg's right hand. He went to the table and lifted the cyborg's hand off it. The hand was pliable and relaxed, exactly like that of a human asleep.

"Charles, what are you doing?"

"Hank," Charles said. "This is a Max P-35."

As he expected, the name meant nothing to Hank, who just looked at him, puzzled.

"As soon as he's charged, he'll connect to the Web through our broadband," Charles said. 

"Of course he will," Hank said. "Why is that a problem?"

"You're too young to remember, but the P-35 was the last realistic cyborg manufactured. The Max and Maxine were the focus of the anti-cyborg movement. All of them were recalled, and, as far as I know, all were destroyed."

Charles looked down at the cyborg. There had been several versions of the Max P-35. This had been one of the most popular – the Erik – with the Sexy Stubble option.

"I'm sorry, Charles, I didn't know. Does this mean I can't keep him?"

"I don't know what it means," Charles said. "But the likelihood of a P-35 showing up through a shipping error is zero. Someone sent him here."

"Why were the P-35s recalled?" Hank asked.

"I don't know. I was only fifteen at the time. Political reasons, technical, or both. I know you were a toddler then, but you do know what happened."

Hank nodded, and smiled slightly.

Charles had perhaps over-emphasized the mutant civil rights struggle in the Xavier Institute's curriculum, and had made sure the students knew the success of the movement had been dependent on the demonization of cyborgs. And while Charles had been too young then to shape affairs, he still felt guilt when he remembered how mutant leaders had exploited the public's fear of cyborgs to advance the mutant cause.

After the hysteria ended, non-realistic cyborgs made a comeback, with manufacturing logos embedded in numerous prominent places in their skin, and in the retinas of their eyes.

Hank was still heartbroken over the idea he was not going to get a cyborg lab assistant after all.

"So there's no support for this model," Hank said. "I can't register him, get updates."

"As far as I know, the recall is still in effect," Charles said. "If you register him, he would be impounded and destroyed."

"Professor, what should we do?" Hank said.

"We need to find out how in the world he ended up here. Which means we need to charge him, but make sure he won't connect to the Web. "

"I can keep him?" Hank said, looking hopeful.

"A cyborg is not a pet," Charles said.

"I already ordered the special food cyborgs eat," Hank said, apparently completely ignoring what Charles had just said. "I could put him in the yellow guestroom. It's shielded."

The yellow room had been shielded due to a student who crashed every broadband network within a mile. Until the student had learned to control her powers, it had been a rough year.

"All right," Charles said. "He can be charged there. Add surveillance to the room."

Hank bounced on his toes, excited. 

"But I'm not saying yes to using him as your lab assistant," Charles said. "The P-35s weren't created to perform administrative functions."

"Were they military?" Hank asked.

"They were pleasure models," Charles said. "Their function was sex."

* * *

Charles retreated to his bedroom with his tablet to research the P-35. Quality photos turned out to be difficult to find on the Web. Finally he found an old advertising video, which confirmed it. The cyborg currently in the yellow guestroom was a Max P-35.

Charles had not seen a P-35 since the recall seventeen years earlier. So how could one show up randomly? Someone had sent it to the Xavier Institute on purpose. But why? And where had the P-35 been all this time?

The P-35's incredible realism was not the only reason it had engendered so much hate; it was the first cyborg model sold exclusively for sex.

The old ads were even worse than Charles remembered: like soft focus porn, with shots of Max and Maxine looking at their human owners adoringly. He found a print ad with the horrendous tagline he had done his best to forget. _Your Max Has Come._

Charles had more than one reason to feel guilty. At age fourteen, he had nearly ordered a Max for himself, even though the models had been restricted to buyers eighteen and older. In spite of the price tag, the equivalent of two years salary for the average person, Charles could have afforded a Max easily. If there hadn't been a backlog, he might have ended up owning one.

His guilt had shaped his attitude toward cyborgs ever since. After the backlash against cyborgs peaked and subsided, and the new unrealistic models were on the market, Charles had still not purchased one, even though cyborgs could have been a huge help at the Xavier Institute.

Aside from sex, there had been another reason Charles had once desperately wanted a Max. When he was twelve, a neighboring family had purchased a cyborg butler, and Charles had discovered he could not read its mind. With a cyborg, Charles might be _normal_. When he had been a teenager, the Max P-35 had been a cherished fantasy for that reason.

Charles pulled up the video feed from the yellow guestroom. The cyborg was in the bed, and appeared to be asleep. Unbidden, the phrase _Sleeping Beauty_ came into Charles's head. Getting to know the Max, without being able to communicate telepathically, would be exciting. Charles might as well admit it.

He checked to make sure the motion detector would alert him if the cyborg moved, and put aside his tablet and prepared for bed.

Perhaps the most bizarre aspect of the cyborg's arrival was that he was the exact model Charles had nearly purchased. The Erik.

* * *

There were no alerts from the yellow guestroom during the night. After a hasty shower and breakfast, Charles met with Hank in the lab.

"There's an issue I should have considered yesterday," Hank said. "If there's a problem once he's charged, I can't reinstall, because he's not supported. I'll have to troubleshoot manually."

"But you can do that," Charles said, confident in Hank's abilities.

"Not without getting behind in my other work," Hank said. "It could take all day."

"Then I'll do it," Charles said. "I'll ask Angel to take over my duties today. We have to know where the cyborg came from."

"I can send out a tissue sample," Hank said. "Run it through a third party. Could take a while."

"Who on the staff knows he's here, and that he's a cyborg?"

"No one," Hank said.

"Good," Charles said. "I don't want anyone to know just yet, not even the senior staff."

Charles's phone beeped. He checked the message.

_08:12am : YllwGstrm : MOVEMENT._

* * *

Erik opened his eyes. He was in a bed in a large, sunny room. The room was impersonal, but the quality of the art on the walls was too high for a hotel. There were two doors, one open to a bathroom, the other closed.

There was a man in the room with him.

Erik sat up in the bed, and scrutinized the man, who was sitting in an armchair by the closed door.

The man was about thirty, well-dressed, pale skin, brown hair, blue eyes. Friendly smile. Attractive. He didn't match anyone in Erik's memory.

"Hello," the man said. "I'm Professor Charles Xavier. This is the living quarters of the Xavier Institute. Welcome." Xavier spoke slowly, as if he thought Erik might not understand him.

Erik shifted under the blanket, and determined he was wearing a pair of boxer shorts, nothing else.

"A pleasure to meet you, Professor Xavier," Erik said. "I am a Max P-35. I'm called Erik, unless the name is already in use by someone in this establishment."

"It isn't," Xavier said.

His face had tightened slightly when Erik said _establishment_.

"I'm afraid your arrival here was unexpected," Xavier said. "Do you know how you got here?"

Erik thought: _retrieve_. But there was nothing. He knew a tremendous amount – wedding customs, how to fly a jet, how to cook and serve a twelve-course meal – but his _narrative_ was missing.

"I have had a memory malfunction," Erik said.

"Not surprising," Xavier said. "You were de-activated for a time. If you like, you can take a shower now, get dressed, then come with me for diagnostics."

Erik thought: _connect_. Nothing happened. 

"Your broadband is unavailable," Erik said. "I can repair it for you."

"I must ask you not to connect to the Web until after your diagnostics are complete," Xavier said.

Erik nodded to show he understood, then swung his legs out from under the blankets, putting his feet on the floor.

"Please be careful," Xavier said. "Your coordination may not be what you expect it to be."

When Erik stood, his body moved fluidly, normally. No problems. He sensed a small movement from Xavier.

"I apologize if my lack of clothing has disturbed you," Erik said.

He could remember that: there were men uncomfortable around other men, even if the male was a cyborg.

"It's not a problem," Xavier said. "Except this is a school, so–"

The human stopped talking, perhaps realizing _you'll be expected to wear clothes_ was condescending.

Erik observed Xavier carefully. The professor's face was flushed, and he was fixedly staring at Erik's face, not at his body. Conclusion: _Xavier is aroused_. But immediately the directive flashed through Erik – _Never initiate_ – and Erik turned and went into the bathroom.

* * *

Once Erik was out of the room, Charles stood up and paced.

Charles's heart rate had unexpectedly soared when Erik had sat up and looked at him.

Possibly Charles's determined avoidance of cyborgs was to blame. He had not expected Erik to seem so _alive_ , and he had definitely not expected the intense scrutiny Erik had given him, as if Charles was a fascinating book Erik had been given to read. Also nerve-wracking: Erik jumping to a conclusion about where he was, and for what purpose. Charles admitted it had not been a far-fetched assumption. He and Hank should have attempted to dress Erik before putting him into the bed.

Charles was relieved when Erik appeared fully dressed in a set of the school's sweats, and athletic shoes left behind by Scott. Using the elevator to avoid the classroom area, he took Erik to the below-ground laboratory.

Hank did his best not to appear excited at Erik's appearance, but Charles was quite sure Erik noticed. Erik also noticed Hank's huge bare feet, but reacted so subtly Charles would not have picked up on it if he had not been looking for it.

He introduced Erik to Hank, then asked Erik to sit in a chair. And once again Charles's ignorance led to an embarrassing moment. He asked Erik where his access ports were, and Erik immediately pulled off his sweatshirt and T-shirt. Before Charles could say _please, please do not get naked_ , Erik lifted his left arm, and Charles saw the access ports just below Erik's armpit.

Charles sat on a rolling stool and began his tests, Erik watching with keen interest. When the moment came to connect cables to Erik, Erik lifted his arm slightly higher, but made no move to help. The sensation Charles had of being studied did not fade, but increased. Every time he hesitated to touch Erik's skin, or fumbled equipment, or said "Um," he was sure Erik had taken note.

Eventually, Charles calmed down, and lost himself in what he was doing. It had been a long time since he had undertaken such a complex technical task. He made notes on his tablet, but was careful not to access anything on the Web specific to the P-35. Not that there seemed to be much of use there.

After three hours, Charles was satisfied there were no serious technical problems with Erik, but he would not know for sure until Erik's internal diagnostic programs completed running, which could take two days, or even longer. One of Erik's functions had been disabled, so Charles re-enabled it.

After he disconnected the cables, and asked Erik to put on his shirt, Charles knew he had to quit stalling and give Erik the bad news.

"Hank, would you step out for a moment?" Charles said.

Hank left, first giving Erik an encouraging smile, as if Erik was about to undergo a job interview.

"Erik, you are in good working order. And that's fortunate, because I'm afraid your model is no longer supported by the manufacturer."

"I see," Erik said neutrally. 

"Your model was recalled seventeen years ago. You seem to have been in storage. It's important you do not connect to the Web directly, because I believe the recall is still in effect, and you would be impounded."

"And repaired?" Erik's voice did not sound quite so calm.

"Destroyed," Charles said.

"If I'm defective, I should be destroyed," Erik said. His voice was neutral again.

"I don't think you are defective. In fact, I'm sure you are not."

Erik's face went blank, as if he were retreating into himself, seeking information. Charles was about to say _For the love of god please don't connect to the Web_ when Erik spoke.

"Do I have an owner?" Erik asked.

"I don't know," Charles said, surprised ownership was the problem foremost in Erik's mind. "I have no records for you, and for obvious reasons I can't request them. So I suppose the answer is no, you do not."

"How did I get here?"

"You were in a shipment of lab equipment."

"Who ordered it?"

"Hank did."

"So I belong to Hank," Erik said.

"No, of course not. You belong to the school if you belong to anyone, Hank used the school's general fund…" Charles stopped talking, realizing what _belong to the school_ might suggest to Erik.

And then something else occurred to Charles. He tried not to give anything away, but Erik's next question confirmed Charles's suspicion: Erik was freakishly good at reading his expressions and movements.

"Who supplies the general fund?" Erik asked.

"I do," Charles said.

"You are my owner," Erik said. 

Charles hesitated. He could qualify his answer, but why? Any qualifiers he offered would be to assuage his own conscience; they had no value to Erik.

"Yes," Charles said. "I know cyborgs must have an owner, even if it's just a corporation. I will take responsibility for you. I will make sure you are supplied with food, power, clothing, and have a place to stay."

"How should I address you?" Erik asked. His voice had changed. It was slower, almost sleepy.

"Charles is fine," Charles said. "Only the students call me Professor Xavier."

"Thank you, Charles."

Charles found a tablet and handed it to Erik.

"Since you cannot use the Web directly, please use this. I recommend you catch up on recent events. You'll understand why I cannot register you."

Erik touched the tablet, manipulating it with a speed Charles was going to have to talk to him about eventually; it was inhuman. But apparently the speed wasn't satisfactory to Erik. He regarded the tablet with the first real expression Charles had seen on his face: annoyance.

"I could anonymize my Web access, so it is not detected," Erik said.

"I'm sure you could," Charles said, and smiled. For some reason, Erik's impatience with the tablet struck him as hilarious. "But I can't have you wandering around announcing the weather forecast without something in your hands to explain where you're getting the information."

Erik's keen gaze returned, and then Erik _smiled_ at Charles, an appreciative smile, which said he got the joke. There was even a hint of gratitude to Charles for thinking of an angle he had missed.

The smile took Charles completely by surprise. His heart rate jumped again. He forced himself to go on.

"There is something we must deal with eventually," Charles said. "The cyborgs made today cannot pass as human. You can, and you must. But you could be recognized as a cyborg by people over the age of thirty-five, so we will have to change your appearance, at least before you leave the school grounds."

"Passing as human is a violation of federal law," Erik said. The neutral voice and expression were back.

"It was, seventeen years ago," Charles said. "There are circumstances now when it's legal. Cyborgs in law enforcement, and in the military, for instance. Since they wear full body armor, they can pass, and they do. So my plan is to designate you in charge of school security, just in case… just in case I eventually find a solution to your situation. Do you have any skill in that field?"

Erik hesitated. "I have weapons and surveillance training."

"We'll have to get you up to speed," Charles said. "Technology has changed in the last seventeen years."

Erik nodded.

"But humans have not," Charles said. "Unfortunately."

"You're not human?" Erik asked, betraying surprise for the first time.

"I'm a mutated human. A mutant." Charles pointed to the tablet, and smiled. "Look me up."

Erik stood when Charles stood.

"As I'm sure you know, your diagnostic programs are still running," Charles said. "Until they complete, I'd like you to remain in your room. I hope the tablet will provide sufficient distraction."

"Thank you, Charles."

"Your memory may return," Charles said. "If you remember anything–"

"I'll let you know immediately, if it's something important."

"Good," Charles said. "You can contact me by–"

Erik lifted the tablet, touched it. Charles's phone buzzed. There was a text message. _Greetings, Charles – Erik._

"Oh," Charles said. "You're rather good at this, aren't you?"

"I shall try to satisfy you," Erik said.

There was no innuendo in Erik's voice, but Charles still reacted to the words with all the subtlety of a sex-starved thirty-year-old academic. He was momentarily speechless, and he had the grim feeling that Erik was no longer just observing the effect he had on Charles, but was relishing it.

Which made what Charles had to say next much more difficult.

"The room you're in," Charles said. "You should know… it has video, motion, and sound surveillance. I'm sorry."

Charles said nothing as he accompanied Erik back to the yellow room. He was too busy planning what he would _not_ say, and how he would _not_ react, if Erik said something the slightest bit suggestive.

When they reached the door, he was almost grateful when Erik shook his hand in a brisk, professional manner.

"Charles, would you be more comfortable if I was locked in the room?" Erik asked. 

"That won't be necessary." Even cyborg-ignorant Charles knew Erik could easily demolish an interior door. "But thank you for suggesting it. Please alert me as soon as your diagnostics have completed, or if you experience any problems. Your food will arrive later today. Is the charge pad sufficient until then?"

"It is, thank you," Erik said, and began to close the door. Then he stopped, and said, "I can eat human food, Charles."

"You can? But the special food–"

"Is a marketing strategy to increase profits," Erik said. "Cyborgs don't require it."

The door closed silently.

Charles went to his bedroom, locked the door, and unzipped his pants, finally releasing the pressure on the hard-on he'd had on and off since that morning.

He had faced and overcome enormous obstacles in his life. He liked to think of himself as calm and unflappable. The last thing he had expected was to be so thoroughly bad at resisting a pleasure model cyborg.

He had known Erik would be visually arousing. But no one had warned him Erik would be charming. And have a sense of humor. Whoever had designed Erik's smile should be _shot_. And, worst of all, what was truly unforgivable from a design perspective: Erik was _intelligent_.

Not having sex with Erik was a thousand times more difficult than Charles had thought it would be.


	2. By The Edges

The first day Erik was confined to the yellow guestroom, Charles asked Hank to keep an eye on Erik through the video feed. Feeling virtuous, Charles caught up on school administration tasks, and researched the care and feeding of cyborgs. 

The official manufacturing sites had the usual marketing drivel. _Do not store your cyborg near explosives._ Charles would have to request data somehow; he added it to the list of tasks Hank would have to farm out to a third party.

What Charles mainly found on the Web was cyborg porn, and plenty of it. The manufacturers did not provide any information on cyborg sex, but Charles found hundreds of unofficial blogs and websites with videos, stories, and tips.

According to the sites, cyborg owners did not have to put any effort into wooing or seducing their cyborgs – unless the owners got a kick out of that – because all cyborgs were designed to want sex with their owners.

Charles knew the concept that cyborgs were eager to sleep with humans was ludicrous. It implied cyborgs had sexual desire, as well as free will to choose their partners. Charles concluded cyborgs probably perceived their continued existence depended on their owners. Certainly Erik was intelligent enough to do so. For _survival_ , would a cyborg acquiesce? Based on the videos, it seemed they did.

Charles scrolled through the porn, spending only a few seconds on each video, just long enough to determine the "plot." _First night with new cyborg_ was common, sometimes played for comic effect: the amorous cyborg, the reluctant owner. The second most popular theme was rape. Human raping cyborg. Cyborg raping human. _Can that even happen?_ Charles wondered, then he saw the disclaimer: the cyborg rapists were played by humans who had been CGIed with embedded logos. Perhaps _all_ the cyborgs were played by human actors.

At the website for the Association of Responsible Cyborg Owners, the members had filled the forums with advice Charles believed to be accurate: a cyborg owner should spend a certain amount of time with the cyborg.

Cyborgs were apparently designed to appreciate human company. They wouldn't exactly wither without it, but they could develop strange quirks. Function poorly. Cyborgs took ownership extremely seriously. Charles wouldn't have believed it if he had not experienced Erik's obsession with ownership the day before. If it was important to Erik, Charles had to take it seriously as well. His role as a cyborg owner was to provide for Erik, to make sure Erik felt secure, and to give Erik work to do so Erik felt valued. 

As far as spending "quality time" with Erik went, Charles had an idea. Before he could think better of it, he did something he had almost done a dozen times already that day: he logged into chat to instant message Erik. He hadn't told Erik his IM id, but he had a feeling… yes. He already had a contact request from Erik.

_Do you play chess? –Charles_

Erik's reply was nearly instantaneous. _Yes. Also poker, bridge, backgammon, golf, tennis._

Charles smiled. _When your diagnostics are finished, let's have a game._

There was a longer pause this time, perhaps ten seconds.

_I've been reading about you. –Erik_

Charles nearly typed _Likewise_ , but then thought of the porn, and didn't.

_See you soon –Charles_

Charles logged out of chat immediately, without checking for a response, and felt virtuous again.

* * *

When Erik's diagnostic programs finished the next day, two days after his arrival – _errors found none_ – he showered, dressed, then messaged Charles.

It was nearly 8pm. Erik had accessed Charles's calendar, and determined that Charles's evening was free, but it was possible Charles would not meet with him until the following morning. All Erik could do was wait.

Hank had come to the yellow guestroom the day before, bringing Erik more clothing, and the expensive cyborg food. The clothing was similar in style to Charles's: slacks, button-down shirts, oxford style shoes. It appeared to be brand-new, ordered for Erik.

While he waited for Charles's response, Erik drank a can of the cyborg food. It was as tasteless as it had been seventeen years earlier.

Erik checked his messages. Nothing. Just as there had been nothing sixty seconds ago. And sixty seconds before that.

At 8:20pm, there was a knock on the door. At last. It was Charles, and he immediately invited Erik to come with him to the study.

The study turned out to be Charles's private office, a large, luxurious room, with book-lined walls and a fireplace. This, Erik sensed, was Charles's favorite room in the Xavier mansion. Before the fire, two chairs faced each other. Between them was a chess set on a small table. 

"Please choose a side," Charles said, gesturing to the chess table.

Erik sat on the side with the white chess pieces. After Charles sat opposite him, Erik made the opening move.

As they played, Charles apologized for the dull waiting period Erik had undergone. Erik answered politely, giving some of his attention to the game, and some to processing what he had learned during the last two days. 

The two days had been far from dull.

Erik had been glad to learn mutants had achieved equality. But the massive outbreak of violence against cyborgs, which had happened simultaneously, had overshadowed events. All over the country, humans had dragged cyborgs into the street and burned them. Thousands had been destroyed. Erik had not been able to discover a reason for the P-35 recall; it seemed their realistic appearance may have been the only factor. He now fully understood why Charles was adamant he pass as human. 

Erik tried to find comfort in the re-introduction of cyborgs, and their subsequent success. Cyborgs were at first only utilized for dangerous jobs (oil rigs, hazmat clean-up), then they expanded into the service sector (waiters, drivers), public safety (firemen, policemen, security), medical (nurses, surgeons), military (support, soldiers, pilots). There was even an all-cyborg orchestra in Philadelphia. There were numerous positive reports in the media (Cyborg Fireman Saves Baby), and the occasional attempt to amend national law to recognize cyborgs were not just things, such as a petition to change the term _cyborg owner_ to _cyborg guardian_. There were cyborg rescue organizations, charities which took care of cyborgs whose owners had died without leaving funds to provide for them. The largest rescue organization had received the bulk of its funding from TXF. The Xavier Foundation.

But the situation was far from positive. Every bill to improve things for cyborgs had failed to pass in both houses, or had been killed in committee. In some states, cyborgs whose owners had died were destroyed, or sold to pay their deceased owner's debts. There were thousands of websites claiming cyborgs signified the coming apocalypse, or were secretly aliens, or both, and called for their destruction.

It had been a relief when Erik moved on to learning about Charles.

Charles had been working for mutant equality since he was in high school. Using his family's fortune, he had founded the Xavier Institute to help mutants control their powers, integrate into society, and overcome lingering prejudices. After earning a doctorate in genetics, Charles, assisted by Hank, designed and built Cerebro, a facility Charles used to telepathically locate mutants before their powers kicked in during adolescence, thereby saving everyone from an inestimable amount of property damage and chaos.

As if Charles didn't have enough to do, three members of the school's senior staff – Jean Grey, Ororo Munroe, and Scott Summers – had recently left to establish another Xavier Institute school, one for mutants classified as omega, or super-powered. Charles had administrative and financial responsibilities for the new school, as well.

When Erik took a knight, then a bishop, Charles said, "You're very good. I'm going to have a drink, would you–"

Erik went to the bar and poured two shots of Scotch, adding a splash of water to each. He had learned from the Web what Charles liked to drink.

"You can drink alcohol?" Charles asked.

"Yes," Erik said. "It has no effect on me, but I enjoy the taste."

"I wasn't asking you to get it for me, you know," Charles said.

"You're welcome," Erik said, deciding Charles had more or less said _thank you_.

Charles laughed, which sent a pleasurable buzz through Erik.

"You have no idea how wonderful it is to play chess with someone whose mind I cannot read," Charles said.

They resumed play. Erik turned to comparing what he knew of Charles through direct observation, as opposed to the public persona of Professor Charles Xavier.

The public Xavier put his all into his schools. He did not have a partner, or children. His only family was his sister, Raven, and she lived in Washington DC, working for the Department of Defense.

Charles sporadically showed up on media society pages, usually at charity events. He was occasionally accompanied by men, who were sometimes identified by name, sometimes only as _Charles Xavier and guest_. None of the men showed up for more than two months at a stretch.

Charles appeared to be a saint, and the last person in the world who would enjoy owning a pleasure model cyborg. But the Charles Erik had observed was not a saint; he was lonely.

On the day Erik awoke in the Xavier Institute, he had teased Charles, because he had perceived Charles as a man who was attracted to him, but did not act on it out of prudery. Erik regretted it now, because he understood Charles had refrained from acting because Charles thought it would be _wrong_.

When Charles finished his drink, Erik returned to the bar. "Another?" Erik said.

Charles smiled and nodded. When Erik offered Charles the glass, Charles's gaze flicked up and down Erik's body, and his lips parted slightly.

 _He's aroused_ , Erik thought. Charles reached for the glass. Their hands touched.

Erik nearly dropped Charles's drink. He managed to set it down before he sat carefully on his chair. He crossed his arms over his abdomen, and leaned forward.

Charles stood up. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Erik needed to tell his owner a lie. Always difficult, but he was eighty percent certain the truth would make Charles uncomfortable.

"Muscle cramp," Erik said. "It will pass."

After who knew how long – seventeen years? – Erik's cock was getting hard. The degree of arousal was unusually strong, nearly unbearable. He could not continue to sit in a chair, and play chess.

He remembered what he was supposed to do. If there wasn't a human around who wanted him for a partner, then he had to go somewhere private and take care of things. 

Erik's _narrative_ was still missing, but memory information had been trickling back, slowly. It was as if his experiences had been extracted and distilled down to if/then statements: probable scenarios, success rates, and recommended courses of action. Who, what, where, when and why was still absent.

But there _was_ a human around who was interested. His owner. Charles.

 _Never initiate_ , the directive said. But Erik _was_ permitted to flirt. Engage in small talk, smile, mirror postures and expressions, say complimentary things, move on to casual physical touches, and ever increasing innuendo. In spite of his memory loss, Erik knew it was something he was extremely good at. 

There was a problem. Everything he had learned about Charles suggested that Charles would not casually take him to bed. Might not take him to bed at all, in fact. But Charles did want him, Erik was sure of it, and Erik needed–

"Charles. You have beautiful eyes," Erik said.

Charles looked startled. "Thank you. Are you sure you are all right?"

Erik had not even intended to say it. Flattery had appeared as a possible course of action, and then the words were out of his mouth. 

_Conflict identified_ , the directive announced, sounding oddly cheerful.

 _Yes_ , Erik agreed. Conflict: Erik wanted Charles, but if he attempted to seduce Charles, it could drive a wedge between them. Erik considered what was essential. 1) he had to leave the study; he could not remain. 2) if he attempted to involve Charles, he had to provide numerous opportunities for Charles to back out.

First, how to excuse himself. Erik examined Charles, who was looking at Erik's bent-over posture with concern, worry… 

Erik knew what to do. Charles took care of everyone around him. He would want to take care of Erik.

"I need to lie down," Erik said. "Would you walk with me to my room?"

"Of course, Erik."

As they walked down the corridor, Charles put a steering hand on Erik's arm. When Erik put a hand on Charles's back, Charles walked faster, and his breath rate increased.

When they were in Erik's room, Erik momentarily couldn't think of what to do next. _Shut the door. Take off your clothes._ Of course. He unbuttoned his shirt, pulled the tail out of his slacks, undid his belt, and began to unzip his slacks. 

He studied Charles while he did so. If Charles wasn't interested, he would interpret Erik undressing as a request for privacy, and leave the room. If Charles was interested, he would stay, and Erik could move to the next stage. Goal: make his owner _Initiate_.

Charles was staring at Erik now.

 _Error_ , Erik realized. With his pants unzipped, his shirt pulled out of the way, and the front of his boxers exposed, his aroused state was visually obvious to Charles. Instead of undressing being a neutral act, which could be either interpreted as a request for privacy on his part, or as an offer, it could only be interpreted as an offer.

It was as if Erik had forgotten how to _do_ this. But perhaps it was not a fatal error. Charles was projecting _want_ in every definable way Erik could detect.

"Do you want to touch me?" Erik said.

Charles smiled nervously, and wiped a hand over his mouth. "Erik, this is…"

"Too soon?" Erik said.

"Yes," Charles said, looking relieved. "I need to tell you something. Your pleasure mode was turned off. I turned it back on, when I was examining you two days ago. It seems it did not go into effect until your diagnostics finished today. I should have thought of that."

Erik processed this. It explained why his state of arousal was so strong, so unusual. It had been _turned off_. He would have to analyze that later.

"I see," Erik said.

Charles's face reddened. 

"I'm sorry, I should have warned you," Charles said. "But I had to fix it, because the off-mode consisted of numbness. Loss of sensation in, in the groin area. Which could be dangerous."

"Without sensation, I could injure myself without realizing it," Erik said. "I understand. Thank you for enabling it." He was still holding the waistband of his slacks, stuck in the act of undressing. 

"So I'm going to leave now," Charles said. "Will you be all right?"

"Yes," Erik said. "I can take care of this myself. When you are not present, if that is what you wish."

"Do you need… my permission?" Charles asked, his face showing so many different emotions Erik could not decide which was dominant.

"To masturbate?" Erik said. Lie? Truth. "No, I do not."

Erik grasped for the directive. There was nothing. It had abandoned him. Charles was going to leave the room. Erik had failed.

Then Charles's face changed, projecting concern and desire in equal measure. Erik abruptly realized Charles was reading _him_. It was something Erik would have to analyze later, but right now there was no time, because there was an _Opportunity._ Erik leapt on it.

"Or I can take care of myself while you are present," Erik said.

"Do you have a preference?" Charles asked, after a brief hesitation.

 _INITIATED._ Erik smiled. "I would like you to stay."

"Fine," Charles said. He looked around the room – at the bed, at the armchair – obviously unsure where to put himself.

Erik began to undress rapidly, but the expression that crossed Charles's face – _too fast_ – made him stop. Instead, Erik removed his shoes, lay on the bed, and pushed aside just enough of his clothing to free his cock. When he at last touched himself, he gasped. He had been told humans felt it far more intensely, which seemed improbable. 

For a moment, he almost forgot about Charles. He stopped moving his hand, and looked up. Charles was in the armchair, watching Erik, and wiping the palms of his hands on his slacks. Erik felt a peculiar tension in his skin, a tickling, buzzing sensation. 

"I need you to touch me," Erik said.

Charles spoke clearly and carefully. "Why is that?"

Erik knew Charles wasn't fishing for a compliment. Charles wanted facts. Had Erik ever been asked to explain? He hadn't, but the explanation was there. He retrieved it.

"The heat of your skin," Erik said. "I can sense it through mine. It increases the sensations."

"Well, then." Charles stood up and methodically stripped.

Charles's clothing was loose to the point of bagginess, so the trim masculine body being revealed was a pleasant shock. So was discovering that Charles was already half-hard. Charles joined Erik on the bed, lying two feet away.

"I want to remove my clothing," Erik said, looking at Charles's now erect cock.

"Fine," Charles said. 

Erik stripped, then waited for Charles to touch him. _First sexual physical contact: never initiate._ He waited. And waited… How long could he wait? How long would he stay aroused? If Charles was not going to touch him after all, Erik could look at Charles while he touched himself. He gripped his cock, looked at Charles's erect cock, _yes, good–_

Charles suddenly moved close, his body against Erik's left side, their skin touching from shoulder to knee. The sensation that roared through Erik stunned him. Strong. It wasn't supposed to be that strong.

"Would it feel better if I did that for you?" Charles's voice was low, full of tension and arousal. 

Truth, or lie? Erik looked at Charles's face, read it, decided to go with truth. "It would." He let go of himself, and waited. 

Charles gripped Erik's cock, and slid his hand slowly up it, then down, just once. Erik tried to force his body to remain still. He couldn't. He clutched at the sheets. Charles kissed him. _Initiated._ Erik kissed him back. 

Charles again moved abruptly: sliding an arm under Erik's neck, kissing him hard. He placed a leg over Erik's legs, holding Erik in place, his tongue in Erik's mouth, and with his hand he pumped Erik's cock hard, fast, harder, faster… 

"I'm going to…" Erik warned. _Always warn._

"Do it," Charles said.

There was a period of disorganization in Erik's brain, everything overwhelmed by the pleasure of release. When he could focus again, he was breathing hard. The comedown from his orgasm was nearly as overwhelming as the orgasm itself; he was so relaxed he could not move for forty seconds.

"You came," Charles said, clearly surprised. 

"Yes, there's ejaculate," Erik said. _Next: reciprocate._ He placed a hand on Charles's thigh. "Can I–"

"No," Charles said firmly.

Erik withdrew his hand. Charles was still lying next to Erik, naked, Charles had been kissing him seconds before, had told him to orgasm… what was wrong?

Everything Erik had learned about Charles gave him the answer quickly. _Consent issues._ This was common; Erik knew how to handle it. But there were different ways to handle it. _Tell him you want it. Beg. Ask. Lie. Truth._ Truth had worked so far, better than truth usually worked. Because it usually didn't.

"You are worried I cannot say no," Erik said.

"The thought had crossed my mind," Charles said. His erection was nearly gone.

"You're right. I cannot say no," Erik said. "But I can choose to say yes."

Charles frowned. "Is that supposed to make sense? Because if it is, I've missed it… Oh, fuck. You can think _no_ , but not be able to say it?"

"Correct," Erik said. 

He could practically see Charles's brain whirring, processing, coming up with a way to get around the programming restriction.

And Charles did. "What are you thinking now?"

"Yes." Erik smiled.

"You want to have sex with me," Charles said. "Why?"

Charles wanted a factual answer from him. Not: because you're sexy; you're nice; I love you.

"Because you're intelligent," Erik said.

Charles's mouth opened slightly. Erik felt a sense of satisfaction. Saying something his owner did not expect produced a pleasurable buzz.

"And you know that how?" Charles was trying not to smile, and failing.

"Chess," Erik said. "Also, you did my diagnostics manually, instead of a full re-install. That takes a great deal of skill."

Charles touched Erik's hair, stroked it. Another staggeringly pleasurable sensation. 

"Erik," Charles said. "Continuing in the vein of painful honesty you've established, I'd like to fuck you. But I'm not exactly prepared–"

"I am," Erik said.

"Oh," Charles said. "You mean…"

"You will not need lubricant or a condom."

"That's… that's interesting," Charles said. "Do you mind if I check?"

Erik froze for an instant, hopefully not long enough for Charles to notice. _Do you mind if I check_ had to have been the most arousing sentence he had ever heard. _Confirmed, it is_ , the directive said.

Erik spread his legs apart. Charles knelt between them, reached under him. Charles's middle finger slid into him. 

"You can feel that," Charles said. 

"Yes," Erik said. His hips moved, out of his control. 

"Are you always ready?" Charles asked. His voice broke slightly. His erection was back.

"No," Erik said. "Only when I decide to be."

Which was apparently a sentence Charles found arousing, because Charles inserted two fingers and began fucking Erik with them furiously. Erik hissed. It was just fingers, how was Charles's cock going to feel–

Charles removed his fingers, moved between Erik's legs, and pressed into him. There was no fumbling; Erik would not have to help. In three hard movements, Charles thrust his way in.

Charles kissed him. Erik kissed him back. Then Charles began to move. With each thrust, Charles's hipbones pressed into Erik's thighs, almost painfully.

"Tell me what you're thinking," Charles rasped out.

"That you're fucking me with your eyes open," Erik said. "Which hasn't happened before. That I'm going to come again. That you know how to fuck."

"Fuck!" Charles said. Charles thrust rapidly, his muscles trembling. He was going to come.

Erik had better control now, he could time himself, synchronize with Charles. Erik thought _now_ , and came, moments after Charles. This time his climax was slow, thorough. Perfect.

Breathing hard, Charles gently disengaged, then lay next to Erik.

"Erik," Charles said. "You completely baffle me."

Erik thought this over. "You sound happy."

Charles laughed. "I'm not easily baffled."

"In that way, we are the same," Erik said.

Had that been a truth he should have left unsaid? Charles was no longer smiling, but looked serious. Not angry. Serious.

"Yes," Charles said. "It is."

"I should sleep," Erik said. "Please stay if you wish."

Charles gave him a look. Erik analyzed it.

"You're embarrassed about this," Erik said. "You do not want the school staff or the students to know we had sex. If you stay with me through the night, they are more likely to find out."

Charles smiled slightly. "Do you have a tactful mode, by any chance?"

"This is my tactful mode." Erik managed not to smile as he said it.

Charles laughed, hard. "I deserved that."

Erik laughed, which for some reason made Charles kiss him again.

A curious set of thoughts came into Erik's head. Charles was _intelligent_. Erik wanted to find out just how intelligent, he wanted to talk to Charles, to play chess with him, to explore his reactions.

"I want you to stay," Erik said. "If that matters."

Charles said, "It does."

Erik began to get up, but Charles said, "No, Erik," so Erik stayed in bed while Charles went to the bathroom and returned with towels. Erik cleaned himself, and did not offer to clean Charles; he sensed Charles wouldn't welcome it.

Charles turned off the lights, and drew the blankets up over them. After a moment, Charles moved close, one hand on Erik's chest.

 _Time to sleep_ , the directive said. Erik was more than ready to comply. He was close to sleep when Charles spoke, his voice drowsy.

"I nearly ordered a P-35," Charles said.

"But you would have been–" 

"Fourteen," Charles said.

Erik considered telling Charles that P-35s were programmed to find any human under the age of eighteen extremely unattractive, but decided it was not relevant. 

"Thank god I didn't," Charles said. "He wouldn't have been you."

Charles moved closer, his breath in Erik's ear. His breathing slowed. He was asleep.

But Erik was now wide awake, his brain seeking the answers to the questions he had tabled due to lack of data: why was he here? What possible set of circumstances had led to his arrival at the Xavier Institute? And where had he been for seventeen years?

Erik recalled an Incredible True Story – Mail Delivered After Forty Years. If it hadn't been for his returning memories, which made it clear he had once had an owner, and had had experiences covering a period of time perhaps as long as two years, Erik would have wondered if he had simply been lost in the mail, finally delivered to Charles Xavier, eighteen years late.

 _Sleep_ , the directive said. It was soft, nearly gentle. _Sleep, Erik._ Erik immediately felt drowsy.

As he slipped into his dreams, it was almost as if the directive went on, chattering to itself. _Lost in the mail. Ridiculous._ A pause. _Sorry about the food; it is terrible, isn't it?_ Another pause. _Erik, the telepath seems trustworthy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, dear humans, for all the lovely comments and kudos. Much appreciated! In the interest of finishing the remaining chapters, I am waiting to respond until the entire story is posted. <3


	3. We Expected Something More

There was a downside to Sexy Stubble. In the morning, the whisker burn on Charles's neck was painful enough he skipped shaving. 

Erik had woken Charles ten minutes before Charles's usual time, so Charles had made it to his own bedroom with ample time to prepare for the day. He had left Erik still in bed in the yellow guestroom. 

Charles smiled at himself in his bathroom mirror while he combed his hair after his shower. He had seen no one; his absence from his bedroom during the night had not been noticed.

For the next three hours, Charles was convinced of this.

Shortly after 9am, Charles received a text message. _I hear you have a new friend –Raven_

Not for the first time, Charles wondered why educational institutions were cesspools of gossip. He was not going to ask Raven who her informant was; she wouldn't tell him, and he would soon find out, anyway; he and the rest of the staff were having a bring-your-own lunch meeting in the senior staff lounge, as they did every Wednesday.

Besides, Charles already knew the informant had to be Sean, with his damned mutant super hearing.

When Charles entered the staff lounge at noon, everyone on the newly-promoted-to-senior staff was present: Angel, Hank, Alex, Sean, and Armando. Also present: Scott. Every week, Scott, Jean, or Ororo came to the staff lunch, leaving their new omega school for the day. It was a good way for everyone to stay in touch.

Charles had neglected to make a lunch or order one, so he was surprised to find his favorite sandwich waiting for him, smoked turkey from his favorite deli. Hank must have ordered it.

Once they were around the conference table which doubled as a dining table, Charles said, "How are things going, Scott?" and took a bite of his sandwich.

For the next fifteen minutes, they had a normal discussion about school-related matters, and Charles began to relax. Perhaps his staff didn't know about Erik. Raven worked for the Department of Defense; maybe she had bugged the mansion.

"You look well-rested, Charles," Alex said. "Did you turn in early?"

Everyone except Scott grinned. At least _someone_ was out of the loop.

"It's not what you think," Charles said defensively, feeling his face grow warm. "He's intelligent." Charles realized what he had said, and blushed harder.

Everyone laughed, except Scott.

"Really, Charles," Angel said, still laughing. "Did you think we were going to assume Erik wasn't? Just because he's good-looking?"

"And probably spends four hours a day exercising," Sean said.

Ah. Angel had seen Erik, Sean had eavesdropped, and then they had collaborated.

Charles looked at Hank, who shook his head: cyborgs didn't have to exercise. Of course they didn't. Erik was just made that way.

"Erik will be taking over security," Charles said, trying to sound bland and businesslike. "Scott, perhaps you could meet with him while you are here today?" Scott had done extensive work in the past on the school's security systems.

Scott was putting things together. "What are his qualifications?" Scott asked, his grin making it a dirty question.

As a delaying tactic, Charles took a large bite of his sandwich. He should have been better prepared for this.

"Erik is a mutant," Hank said. "He doesn't have to exercise." 

_Wait, what?_ Charles thought.

"Also, he can survive on electricity instead of food," Hank said.

Hank's well-meant but painfully inept lying abruptly convinced Charles he could not – and should not – keep Erik's identity from his staff.

"Hank," Charles said. "Thank you. But Erik is not a mutant. He is a cyborg."

The room was completely quiet.

Charles had been wrong to think he should keep Erik's identity from his staff. They were his friends and allies. They could help him. He _needed_ their help. So Charles told them the entire story, which turned out to be remarkably brief when the sex parts were left out. Charles did not include the information he had once nearly purchased a P-35; he had had enough embarrassment for the day.

Only Scott was old enough to remember the cyborg massacre first-hand, but everyone was somber by the time Charles finished.

"I can help Hank research Erik's background," Sean said. "And create a new identity for him."

Charles looked at him gratefully. Sean had once worked for Interpol.

"Scott, you will of course tell Jean and Ororo about Erik," Charles said. "But please tell no one else."

Scott nodded.

"Charles," Angel said. "We still have fifteen minutes before the meeting ends. Would you like me to get Erik, so he can meet everyone?"

"Please," Charles said. "Thank you."

Angel stopped in the doorway. "Will Erik come with me, if I ask?"

Charles had briefly explained the ownership issue, so her concern was understandable. Unfortunately, Charles didn't know the answer.

"If you tell Erik Charles wants to see him, he'll go with you," Hank said.

Angel left amid muffled titters, which Charles pretended not to hear.

"But _why_ is he here?" Scott said, once everyone was serious again. "I can't help worrying he could be a spy of some sort."

Charles was about to protest, but Sean said, "Erik could be an unwilling spy, Charles. Recording, transmitting; he wouldn't even have to know."

"A spy for whom?" Hank said. "He was definitely turned off for a really long time. Charles checked his logs. Unless someone planned this years ago, I think we can rule out spying."

"But how did he end up in that shipment?" Alex asked. "Someone wanted him here."

"Maybe a cyborg sympathizer?" Armando said. "The goal could have been to protect Erik."

"True," Scott said. "Someone went to a huge amount of trouble on his account for the last seventeen years."

"But why send him _here_?" Charles said.

Everyone looked at each other, then at Charles.

"Professor, you apparently don't know this, but you are considered something of a fanatic when it comes to cyborgs," Armando said.

"I am?" Charles said.

"The most _public_ moment I can think of," Scott said, smiling, "was the speech you gave last year at the dedication for the President Clinton Memorial Library. When you praised her for signing the executive order granting equality to mutants, but then blasted her for her position on cyborgs."

The door opened. It was Angel with Erik. 

When his staff stood up, introduced themselves to Erik, shook his hand, and welcomed him to the school, Charles did _not_ feel slightly misty-eyed, or proud, or any of those things. It was just stuff getting in his eyes.

When everyone prepared to leave the staff lounge, Erik looked at Charles and smiled. Erik already had a deadly arsenal of smiles, but this was a new one, the smile of someone thinking about the last time he had seen Charles naked. _This is inconvenient_ , Charles thought. He was not used to getting hard while in meetings with his staff.

* * *

That evening, Charles met with Erik in his study. They resumed the chess game they had abruptly abandoned the night before.

Now that Erik was in clothing that actually fit, he was even more distracting.

Charles had ordered off-the-rack shirts, pants, and shoes for Erik from Zappos, thanks to the measurements provided by Hank's scan. _But I can do better than that_ , Charles thought. While Erik studied the chess board as if he hadn't already planned his next devastating move, Charles picked up his tablet, found Erik's scan, and sent the exact measurements to his tailor, requesting a dozen suits. Eyeing Erik, Charles added _He's a Summer, I'm still allergic to wool, charcoal is a must_.

"Your move, Charles," Erik said.

Charles set down his tablet and studied the board. He was going to lose, that much was obvious.

"How was your sandwich?" Erik asked. 

Ah. "It was delicious, thank you," Charles said.

As they continued playing, Charles steadily losing ground, Erik described his meeting with Scott, which made Charles wish he had been there; Scott and Erik had hit it off, bonding while discussing response time and situational awareness.

Erik's mood had improved dramatically since his first day at the mansion. He smiled often, and he seemed far more relaxed. Since the team knew about him, Erik was no longer confined to the yellow room, and could go anywhere on the campus.

It was becoming part of the team that had lifted Erik's spirits. For the next twenty minutes, Charles was convinced of this.

Then Erik shifted in his seat and winced slightly. Charles was about to ask if he was all right, but Erik shifted again, and a tiny smile curved his lips. Even without telepathy, Charles knew Erik was feeling the bruises Charles had left on his thighs last night.

After that, the probability that Charles would lose the chess game increased to one hundred percent.

Erik's happy mood was due to their night together, not to becoming part of the Xavier Institute team. Which left Charles in a quandary.

Up until yesterday, Charles's sex life had not been a raging success. As a lover, he had felt adequate, but no more. His partners did not go wild, and neither did he. So his night with Erik had been a surprise he was not sure how to deal with. Until last night, Charles had never had a lover thoroughly aroused just from looking at him. He had never had a lover who came twice in thirty minutes. He had never had a lover who had aroused _him_ so much.

What did it mean that the best sex of his life had been with a cyborg, not a human? Not that the sex had been in any way what Charles had assumed "cyborg sex" to be. When he had been a teenager, he hadn't gone beyond imagining orgasms, but in adulthood, Charles had believed sex with a cyborg would be like fucking someone powerless, like a doll; the idea had repulsed him.

Erik was as far from doll-like as possible. Erik had desires, needs, opinions. He had a personality. Most important, Charles believed Erik had the power to tell him no, and the intellect and judgment to choose Charles or reject him.

Erik enjoying his bruises gave Charles an immediate erection, and he then thought of something he was trying very hard not to think. _Erik. Pull down your pants and let me see your bruises._ Because although Erik was not doll-like, he would probably _obey_ : drop his pants right there in the study and let Charles touch him.

Charles swallowed, and thought _stop it, don't torture yourself_. Because unfortunately the night of sex could not be repeated.

Seeing Scott had reminded Charles of a new, unofficial school policy: staff members were not supposed to date, and they were not supposed to have sexual relations at the mansion. The Jean-Scott-Logan debacle had been a bitter lesson. Jean and Scott had made a fresh start at the new school, but Logan was still on sabbatical, which for Logan meant riding his motorcycle around the country and getting in bar fights.

Charles had a difficult speech to make; but then, since Erik's arrival, it seemed Charles's life consisted of nothing _but_ difficult speeches.

"Erik," Charles said. "A few words on policy, now that you are on the staff. The staff refrains from dating each other, and they do not bring partners to the campus. Not because we're worried about being a bad influence on the students, but because you have not experienced hellish curiosity until you've dealt with teenagers. Also, some of them can walk through walls."

Charles decided not to explain the Jean-Scott-Logan mess yet. Or ever.

"I understand," Erik said. "You prefer not to have sexual partners on campus."

"Thank you for understanding," Charles said. "It's not an official policy, but everyone refrains, so I have to as well. It wouldn't be fair, otherwise." 

"Check," Erik said, looking at the chess board.

* * *

While not a mutant, Erik had a super power: making Charles's life easier. During the next two weeks, Charles's burdensome school administration tasks melted away, even though, under Scott's direction, Erik also tackled school security. Erik upgraded the school's security systems, and took on a job that had previously frustrated even the most talented and organized teachers: dividing the children into safety teams with varying responsibilities, designating assembly areas, and holding evacuation drills.

Erik taught the students CPR, first aid, and basic self-defense. He commandeered the unused space below the school that had been a bomb shelter, built ninety years earlier for bombs that never came. In it, he installed the latest emergency power generators, and began stockpiling enough supplies to support the school for a three-week stretch, including every prescription medication used by students and staff.

Charles was dragged along for the ride. Erik made Charles memorize numeric codes, which stood for a variety of threats; the students had to learn the codes, too. In an emergency, Charles would send out the codes telepathically. It made sense. Sending a three digit code was faster than having to explain whether the threat was a takeover robbery, fire, or hostage situation.

Erik's efforts paid off immediately. A small earthquake on the East Coast shook everyone's complacency, and the children's families demanded details of the school's disaster preparations. Erik had a press release completed in ten minutes for Charles's approval.

Erik moved out of the yellow guestroom and into Scott's old bedroom, which put him just three doors away from Charles. Charles tried not to think about it, especially when he was getting ready for bed.

With Erik handling so many details, Charles had time to spare. Almost every evening, it was possible to meet with Erik, play a game of chess in the study, and talk about the day.

At first, Charles worried Erik was unhappy about the _no fraternization_ rule on campus, but, as the days went by, and Erik seemed content, Charles believed their regular evening meetings were enough quality time to keep a cyborg functioning optimally. 

For two weeks, Charles was convinced of this.

* * *

"Charles," Erik said as he threatened Charles's queen, "would you like me to handle travel arrangements for the Xavier Foundation charity ball?"

"Oh, right, that must be coming up soon," Charles said. The foundation ran itself without him, thankfully, but he did have to put in an appearance at their largest fundraising event, which was held annually in Washington, DC.

"It's a week from this Saturday," Erik said.

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't usually make any arrangements," Charles said. "I drive, and stay with Raven." It was 418 kilometers, a five-hour drive, but due to two hour pre-flight check-ins, it was faster to drive than to fly.

"Your sister will not be in DC that weekend," Erik said. "I checked her availability."

Charles frowned. He rarely saw Raven, and had been counting on the ball as an opportunity to visit with her.

As if he had been reading Charles's mind, Erik said, "Raven says, if you wish to see her, you should arrive Friday afternoon before four. She will not be leaving until seven that evening. You are welcome to stay in her apartment while she is away. The ball is on Saturday, as usual. Raven will return Sunday at approximately five in the afternoon."

"You _talked_ to Raven?" Charles said.

Erik scrutinized him. It had been a while since Erik had given him that look, as if Erik could casually take Charles apart, and put him together again.

"She suggested I accompany you to DC," Erik said. "And be your escort at the ball. I told her that was impossible; I'm far too busy here. But you do usually attend with a guest. So I took the liberty of preparing this." Erik produced his tablet and handed it to Charles.

Charles looked at the display. It was a list of men he had dated, and taken to events in the past.

"I've confirmed they are currently without partners, and will be in the area the weekend of the ball." Erik took Charles's queen with a bishop. "Would you like me to issue one or more of them an invitation?"

For a moment, Charles was speechless. He knew instantly what was going on. _I understand. You prefer not to have sexual partners on campus._ This was about one thing only: Erik getting Charles away from the school.

The list Erik had handed him was a bluff. Charles knew none of the men would be available, and then at the last minute Erik would "relent" and agree to go with Charles, so Charles wouldn't have to go alone. Then they would stay at Raven's for the weekend, arriving a day early so Raven could meet Charles's _new friend_. After that, Raven would go off on her undoubtedly made-up journey – probably no farther than a local hotel – leaving Charles and Erik alone for the weekend in her flat.

Charles was quiet for a moment, taking in the sheer diabolical beauty of it.

"Don't bother with the invitations," Charles said, his face getting hot. If he wasn't making difficult speeches, he was blushing; that was his entire life now. "So. How much of this plan is yours, and how much is Raven's?"

"It is almost entirely Raven's," Erik said in the extra-neutral voice Charles had learned meant Erik was struggling not to smile or laugh.

Charles was flattered (and aroused, damn it) Erik had gone to so much trouble to arrange getting into his pants, but there was an insurmountable problem in Erik's scheme.

"Erik, I would be happy for you to go with me, but you cannot meet Raven," Charles said. "She will know you are a cyborg." 

Charles explained. Raven knew all about his teenage crush on the Max P-35. Not only would Raven detect that Erik was a cyborg through her mutant shape shifting ability, she would know Erik was an _Erik_. She knew about the recall; she knew everything.

Charles decided not to mention the time Raven had bought an Erik holographic poster and hung it up in his bedroom.

Erik studied Charles. "You trusted your staff with that information. You do not trust Raven?"

"Of course I trust her," Charles said. "But she works for the Department of Defense. It's the biggest employer… _owner_ of cyborgs in the world. She might _have_ to turn you in. If she didn't, and it was discovered, she would lose her job, at the very least."

Erik's expression changed to one Charles was growing familiar with: it signified Erik turning inward, consulting something inside his own head. Usually, Erik's pauses lasted a few seconds only. But this time, nearly half a minute went by, and Erik was still _thinking_. Charles began to grow uneasy. 

"Erik?" Charles asked. 

Another fifteen seconds crawled past. At last Erik was "present" again.

"I am willing to take the chance," Erik said. "I believe you should tell her."

* * *

Once Charles gave in to the inevitable, there was a tremendous amount to do. Sean had been setting up an identity for Erik, but now it had to be _done_ , and flawless. The security in DC would be intense; there would be state leaders at the charity ball.

The cyborg data arrived at last, boxes and boxes of it; Jean had taken on the task. Charles moved the boxes to his bedroom; he didn't want the material in a public space such as his office.

Charles looked at the paper in dismay, but it was the only way to prevent data request tracking. A note from Jean explained many of the books were out of print electronically, anyway; only paper versions existed.

With Erik more or less running the school at this point, Charles had time, so over the next three days he settled down with the heap of books, copies of newspaper articles in the antiquated multiple column format used when newspapers were printed on actual paper, and academic publications in disintegrating binders. At least Jean had taken a stab at organizing the material chronologically.

The earliest book was "Machines Who Think," published in the 1970s. Charles thought it would be hilariously outdated, but Jean must have included it for a reason, so Charles leafed through it, and was quickly engrossed. He'd had no idea the concept of an artificial human was so old, going back to Classical Greece, and the details of how the earliest attempts at AI floundered and then flourished kept him up reading until midnight. The first programs had consisted of paper punch cards used for mechanized fabric looms almost 250 years earlier; how had he not known that?

But the first cyborg, created in the early 1980s by the Kardax Corporation, did not catch on due to its high price and limited functionality. It was not until the late 1990s that production had boomed, thanks to technological advances.

Kardax Corporation held the patents on the cyborg BCI, or Brain Computer Interface, which Charles was fascinated to discover was bioware, a genetic sequence that held a cyborg's programming. He paused in his reading to fire off a message to Hank – _ask Jean to get us everything on the BCI she can find, tell you why later_ – then moved on to what cyborgs were made of: hydrogen, oxygen, nitrogen, phosphorus, and sulfur, just like humans, but cyborg cells (also patented by Kardax) contained silica instead of carbon.

Charles had a hunch the silica was why he could not connect with a cyborg mind. Cyborgs weren't CHONPS (as Charles's ninth grade science teacher had called carbon-hydrogen-oxygen-nitrogen-phosphorus-sulfur life forms), but SHONPS.

In the 1980s, there had been much debate about whether or not cyborgs were alive; after all, the patented cells could grow and divide, or else there would be no cyborgs. But quickly the (very convenient) conclusion was reached that cyborgs were not alive; the simultaneous debate about stem cells had settled it. The key argument supporting the _not alive_ conclusion was that cyborgs could not mate and produce live offspring; they were exclusively products of the laboratory.

On the second day, Charles plowed through more data. Cyborgs were self-repairing, self-lubricating, and were not susceptible to any known disease. Cyborgs had far more control over their bodies, unlike humans, whose bodily functions were nearly all controlled by the autonomous or unconscious mind. When Erik had said _Only when I decide to be_ , he had been speaking the truth.

When Charles read that cyborgs required electrical power, but could convert a special food (trademarked by Kardax) to energy when electricity was not available, he snorted. Erik loved human food, and ate so much of it he rarely used a charger.

Oddly, in many respects cyborgs had changed little since the 1980s. Most of their functions were analog, not digital, and in the 1990s numerous companies, partnering with Kardax, crashed and burned in a failed attempt at a digital upgrade. The workaround was installing analog-digital converters within cyborg access ports. 

At the end of the 1990s, there were only ten thousand cyborgs in the world. It was not until the aughties that cyborgs really caught on. By the time the Max and Maxine were introduced in the 2020s, there were hundreds of thousands of cyborgs worldwide.

Jean had not found material directly related to the P-35 recall, but she had dug up news articles dating to the introduction of the Max, which said the P-35 was an advance over previous cyborg models because it could perform, at close to human levels, the most complex task the human brain had to handle: social interaction with other humans.

Charles grimaced. So that was why the Max and Maxine had been marketed for sex; sex was perhaps the most complex social interaction of all.

The reading swiftly turned grim. Charles skipped the worst of the backlash against cyborgs period, which peaked in 2027. At the end of that year, there were less than 5,000 cyborgs worldwide. In 2035, unrealistic cyborgs were produced, most made by the original manufacturer, Kardax. Since then, partner companies and subsidiaries had again proliferated. There were hundreds of different cyborg brands, though five companies dominated: Sony, Kardax, Monsanto, Dupont, Aventis.

On day three, Charles reluctantly moved on to the legal cases involving cyborgs. Over the decades, hundreds of court cases had established cyborgs did not get paid (but owners could hire them out and pocket the money), could not have bank accounts, inherit or own property, marry, sign contracts, testify in court (but could be introduced as evidence), serve on a jury, vote, hold public office, own pets, or have sex with humans or other cyborgs without permission of their owners. Cyborgs did not have a separate identity apart from their owners; cyborgs took their owners' last names.

Cyborgs could be destroyed by their owners for any reason. Destruction of a cyborg by a human not its owner was a property crime, not murder, with the exception of cyborgs serving as police or in the military. Because the penalty for killing an enforcement cyborg was still comparatively low, cyborgs in enforcement were allowed to impersonate humans; otherwise, the criminal class quickly picked them off.

What Charles had hoped to find in the reams of paper, but hadn't, was a concrete reason for the Max line recall. He had expected something dire, such as a report of a cyborg harming a human. But no such report existed. As far as Charles could tell from the data, and from what he knew of Erik, there was absolutely nothing wrong with the P-35s.

* * *

At the end of Charles's third day of research, and with just two days to go before the trip to DC, Charles worried Erik's identity would not be completed in time. When Erik messaged him at 9pm, Charles responded immediately. _I'm in my room_. He hoped Erik contacting him so late meant Erik had good news on the identity project.

Since he had been is his bedroom reading, Charles was wearing only pajama bottoms and was barefoot. He considered putting on a T-shirt and a bathrobe before Erik arrived. But that was ridiculous; Erik was not going to lose control from seeing Charles bare-chested.

When Erik knocked, Charles let him in.

"Sorry, things are a mess," Charles said.

Books, binders, and stacks of paper were everywhere. It was the first time Erik had been in his bedroom, and Charles felt self-conscious. He began piling everything back into the boxes.

He felt even more self-conscious, because Erik's new suits had obviously arrived, and Erik looked fantastic. Erik had dyed his hair brown, and had cut it. His Sexy Stubble was gone. He was wearing a charcoal suit with a light aqua shirt and a deep aqua tie. Charles nearly salivated.

Fortunately, since he had been indulging in such depressing reading, Charles was able to keep control of himself. All he did was croak, "You look good."

"Thank you, Charles, for the suits," Erik said. "I appreciate everything you have done for me."

Erik was using his _no innuendo here, why would you even think that_ voice, which was somehow soaked in innuendo. The word _appreciate_ had been particularly suggestive.

"I came to tell you Sean finished creating my identity today," Erik said.

 _Thank god_ , Charles wanted to shout. "Wonderful," Charles said.

Erik produced a new tablet, and tapped it. His identity came up on the screen, complete with an image of his newly altered appearance. _Erik Lehnsherr._ Erik could get a bank loan, leave the country, and vote; anything a citizen could do.

As Charles examined the tablet, Erik added, "My real name is of course Erik Xavier. I apologize for–"

Charles interrupted. "I'm finished with all of this, if you'd like to look through it." Charles gestured at the boxes.

He'd had to interrupt Erik. _Erik Xavier_ had hit him in the gut, probably due to the court cases he had just been reading.

"Thank you, Charles, I would," Erik said. "This is the cyborg material sent to you by the omega school?"

"Yes, Jean found it for me. I must send her flowers or something."

Erik easily picked up a box Charles had struggled to move.

"Charles, why didn't you launch the omega school? Don't you qualify as omega?"

"As a super powered mutant, you mean?" Charles laughed. "I'm the _reason_ for the omega protocol. But I didn't set up the school because–" Christ. Charles still didn't want to get into the Jean-Scott-Logan mess. Not without a stiff drink first.

"What do you mean by protocol?" Erik said.

Charles explained. The omega designation had originally been created by the government, to classify mutants capable of causing catastrophic damage.

"The government has a plan in place to neutralize me, should I ever need to be," Charles said. "The plan is called the omega protocol. I designed the anti-Charles Xavier weapon myself. There are other plans as well, to neutralize Ororo and Jean if necessary."

"What catastrophic damage could you cause?" Erik asked.

"It's unknown," Charles said. "But theoretically, I could order everyone on the planet to jump off a bridge."

"What do you mean by neutralize?" Erik said.

"Kill me, of course," Charles said.

Erik suddenly put the box down – really more like tossed it aside, as if it weighed nothing – and moved toward Charles _fast_ , faster than Charles knew he could move.

Erik had his hands on Charles's shoulders, and was saying, "The government would _kill_ you?"

Charles was rattled. He had never seen Erik move so abruptly, and Erik grabbing him struck him as unusual. He placed his hands on Erik's suit-covered chest, and said stupidly, "It's not wool."

Erik's face suddenly went blank. His hands, gripping Charles's shoulders, loosened. It was as if he had been _shut off_. It lasted for only a few seconds, then Erik was back. He removed his hands from Charles's shoulders, and instead placed them over Charles's hands on his chest.

"I'm sorry," Erik said. "I should not have initiated."

Erik's expression showed his usual ability to read Charles had not failed him. He was aware of having alarmed Charles, and felt wretched about it. Charles returned Erik's gaze, unsure of what to say. He _had_ been alarmed, and he didn't want to pretend otherwise.

"I know of your wool allergy," Erik said. "I checked the label. It is a nylon Tencel blend."

Charles laughed, and felt something ease inside him. "Well, that's a relief."

Charles was about to move away, but now Erik was close enough to smell, and he smelled like crisp new fabric, expensive soap, and warm skin. When Charles leaned forward instead of moving away, Erik bent his head down, and Charles thought _Oh hell_ and kissed him.

Erik kept the kiss gentle and slow, his mouth barely open, his tongue on Charles's lips but not in his mouth, his hands on Charles's face, his fingers stroking into Charles's hair. Charles breathed unevenly, extremely aware he was dressed only in pajama bottoms and was a loosely tied drawstring away from nakedness. When Erik pulled away, Charles groaned pathetically before he could stop himself.

"Don't worry about me," Charles said, trying not to pant. "I'm sure Raven would prevent the government from doing anything rash."

"I look forward to meeting her," Erik said. "And to the trip in general."

The front of Charles's pajamas made his feelings about the trip glaringly obvious, so Charles just said, "Yes."

Erik stacked two boxes, then picked them up. Charles opened the door for him.

"Sleep well," Erik said, then dropped his gaze to Charles's pajamas, and smiled slightly before walking away.

Erik might as well have shouted _Got you back for the last two weeks of suffering through your no fraternization foolishness, Charles_.

Charles grinned as he shut the door. The trip was _on_.

Charles was worried about it, of course. He was worried about taking Erik somewhere crawling with security, and worried about what Raven's reaction to Erik would be. But at the moment Charles had to do something about his aching cock. He lay on the bed, closed his eyes, and pictured Erik naked, and Erik saying _Only when I decide to be_ , but what ended up getting Charles off was remembering how effortlessly Erik had lifted a box.


	4. Walk Away Now

They were on the road to DC, twenty miles out from the Xavier Institute, when Charles pulled the car off the highway to refill the hydrogen tank.

After entering the fuel station, Charles held up his tablet for the cyborg approaching with a scanner. The cyborg was typical for a low-level service job: male in appearance, the Kardax logos embedded in his skin so reflective and numerous he had the sheen of a dragonfly's wings. 

Then Charles realized Erik was sitting rigidly beside him, completely lost in his thinking mode, one hand held up, frozen, palm out. Charles's stomach twisted. He should have anticipated this.

"Please step away from the vehicle," Charles said to the cyborg. "I will refuel."

The cyborg left immediately. Erik's hand dropped, then Erik turned to look at Charles.

"I'm sorry," Charles said, taking Erik's hand. Charles should have done more to prepare him. Erik had seen videos on the Web, but it was not the same as meeting an unrealistic cyborg in person. 

"Are they all like that?" Erik asked, keeping his gaze on Charles, and not looking out of the windows.

"Some are worse," Charles said. "Erik, we can go back."

"No," Erik said. "I must meet Raven."

Charles filled the hydrogen tank, and they returned to the highway. Erik was silent, lost in thought.

Erik had read through the boxes of cyborg data, and had plenty to think about. But the silence was getting to Charles; they had a five hour drive to get through. Charles pressed a button on the dash, activating the player. Raven thought his car's eight speakers were excessive, but Charles liked to get away from earbuds occasionally.

"Charles." Erik's face had changed completely. He was smiling. "You have a stereo."

"You mean the player?"

"I used to stream music," Erik said. "When I could connect directly to the Web."

"You mean in your _head_?" Charles asked.

"Yes," Erik said. "This is nearly as good."

"Is there anything you'd like to hear?" Charles asked, now grinning. He handed his tablet to Erik. "Just–"

But Erik had already figured out how to direct streaming to the car's sound system. A string quartet by Brahms filled their ears.

"I have selected six hours of music," Erik said, putting down Charles's tablet. "Please let me know if my choices are not agreeable."

Charles looked at him, and found Erik smiling, confirming what Charles suspected: occasionally Erik used overly formal "cyborg language" simply to tease him.

Charles laughed. "You are terrible."

A few miles later, Erik said, "Please tell me about starting the Xavier Institute, Charles."

So Charles told him, explaining that when he was in high school, mutants had been granted equality, but in practice mutants were still kept out of jobs, housing, and schools. When Charles founded the Xavier Institute after obtaining his degree, most of the first mutant students had been far behind in their studies, and the school had focused on remedial instruction.

"Almost-equality was still better than what came before," Charles said. "When mutants were experimented upon. Caged like animals." Charles frowned, thinking of Logan. "But my mutation wasn't obvious, so I could pass. So could Raven."

"The first cyborg was invented by a mutant," Erik said. "Her mutation was not obvious, either."

"She? Weren't cyborgs invented by a captain named Jack Reed?" Charles could remember reading about the captain, possibly in the material Jean had located.

"No," Erik said. "Admiral Eileen Sperry."

"I've heard of her," Charles said. "Can't remember why."

"She was credited with the creation of the first high-level computer programming language," Erik said. "But she also designed the first schematics for cyber organisms."

"I didn't know that," Charles said, surprised.

"She was a mutant during a period of mutant and female repression," Erik said. "So the credit for cyborgs went to Reed."

"Disadvantaged groups not getting the credit," Charles said. "Not exactly news, is it."

Charles thought about the mountain of paper Jean had obtained for him, and the disappointment of not finding the one thing he had hoped for the most: a reason for the Max recall. At least Charles was now sure the recall was not due to a problem with the P-35. The recall had to have been a political move, pandering to anti-cyborg hysteria.

It was a relief. It would have been difficult to ask Raven to trust him about Erik if P-35s had been reported to be violent.

* * *

When they stopped to eat in Philadelphia, Erik was grateful Charles chose a restaurant without cyborg servers. After they finished their meal, Erik offered to take over the driving, and Charles agreed. 

Since Erik had awakened from his seventeen year sleep, functioning without direct Web access had been difficult, but he had adapted more easily than he had expected.

But no Web access while driving felt _unsafe_. Erik was accustomed to pulling up GPS, weather, and traffic info instantly, without having to take his eyes off the road. The car had navigation systems on the dash, but Erik was quickly annoyed by the slow response. It would be easier to ask Charles to find the information on his tablet.

He considered asking Charles if it would be permissible to connect directly to the Web just this once. The browser Erik used was specific to cyborgs, and each cyborg had a unique ID, but Erik could use an anonymizer. Then Erik thought of the omega protocol, and rejected the plan. He would never take an action that might put Charles at risk, no matter how slight the chance.

They were now just one hour away from DC, and meeting Raven.

When Charles had told him it would not be safe for Erik to meet Raven because of her job and her memory of P-35s, Erik had immediately sought out the directive: _conflict_. But the directive had been slow to respond. After a few seconds, Erik thought: _conflict_ a second time. _Busy_ , the directive had said. _Please wait._ Erik could not recall a time when the directive had been _busy_.

When the directive finally returned, it had been unhelpful. _If benefit outweighs risk, then proceed._ Frustrated, Erik thought _I am unaware of all the risks or benefits_. Then something occurred to Erik. _Directive. Will my meeting Raven put Charles at risk? Not me. Charles._ There had been another long pause. _Associated risk is low_ , the directive said. _Proceed._ It sounded unhappy.

* * *

Charles held up his tablet so they could enter the parking garage below Raven's apartment building. It was an Art Deco structure, twelve stories tall, from the early skyscraper period of the 20th century. After Erik parked the car in the guest area, Charles turned to him.

"I should talk to Raven first," Charles said. "I didn't tell her anything about you on the phone or through the Web. I'm sure her communications are monitored."

"I understand," Erik said. "I shall wait here."

Charles leaned forward and kissed Erik on the mouth. Erik sensed Charles planned it to be a quick kiss, but Erik knew how to change that. He opened his mouth, and Charles couldn't help but put his tongue in it.

Charles ended the kiss, then got out of the car. With a glance back at Erik, Charles stepped into the open elevator. The doors closed.

Raven lived on the eighth floor; the door to her apartment was forty feet from the elevator. Erik calculated it would be two minutes before Charles reached her apartment, was let in, and Charles and Raven began to speak. He anticipated the conversation would take less than ten minutes if the outcome was poor, more than ten minutes if Raven was receptive.

* * *

As soon as Charles was inside Raven's apartment, Raven said, "Ororo told me about Erik, Charles."

Charles followed her into the kitchen. Raven removed an already opened bottle of white wine from the refrigerator, and filled two wineglasses nearly to the brim. They sat on stools at the counter.

"What did she tell you?" Charles asked. Raven hadn't hugged him. She usually hugged him.

"That Erik is a cyborg, and a P-35."

"When did she tell you?"

"Charles, does that matter? I want to know just one thing. Are you really sleeping with him?"

Charles took a large sip of wine. "Yes."

"God, Charles," Raven said. "I wouldn't have thought you–"

"I know," Charles said. "But I was wrong about cyborgs."

With the help of the wine, Charles poured out his thoughts for Raven.

Before he had met Erik, Charles had believed it was wrong to use cyborgs, for what was essentially slave labor, because of the negative effect it had on humanity. His views, Charles now realized, hadn't taken cyborgs themselves into account at all.

Charles had thought cyborgs to be mindless. Now he knew they weren't. Cyborgs should not be used as slaves because they could perhaps have their own lives, _independent_ of humanity. What it came down to was that Charles now believed the "cyborg problem" wasn't what cyborgs were doing to humanity, but what humanity was doing to cyborgs.

When he finished, Raven asked detailed questions about the work Sean had done on Erik's identity. Charles told her everything. While Raven had not yet indicated whether she was going to accept Erik, she would know if Erik's identity could pass muster. Her opinion, if she gave it, would be invaluable.

Charles explained that Sean had discovered the Eriks and other models of the Max and Maxine line had not been identical. They had unique fingerprints and retinas, and there were subtle differences in their heights, proportions, and features.

"Do you think it's safe to take Erik to the TXF Ball?" Charles asked.

"Yes," Raven said. "The recall could still be in effect, but that's not the same as authorities actively looking for P-35s. Erik won't trigger facial recognition. There are no cyborgs on the wanted list, Charles."

Charles nodded. No cyborgs on the wanted list, because no cyborg had ever committed a crime.

"Thank you, Raven," Charles said. "It's been a lot of work, but I believe it's worth it."

Raven studied him. "You would do all this for one cyborg."

Charles was about to say, "Yes," but he knew that was not a complete answer.

"I would do it for any cyborg," Charles said.

"What about video surveillance and photos at the hotel?" Raven asked.

"Ethan will be there," Charles said. Ethan was a mutant whose ability was distorting light wavelengths.

"Erik's downstairs in the parking garage?" Raven asked.

"Yes," Charles said, hope leaping in him.

Raven took his arm. "Okay. I'm ready to meet him. But it's freaking me out that he's an Erik. If I say something terrible, kick me."

* * *

It was seven in the evening. Erik had already placed their luggage in Raven's guest bedroom. They had devoured the dinner Raven had had sent in, and Raven had left. He and Erik were alone in her apartment for the next two days.

As soon as Raven was out the door, Charles grabbed Erik and kissed him. Then he took Erik's hand, and led him to the bedroom. 

Charles let go of Erik's hand to search for the remote to close the drapes; probably not necessary on the eighth floor, but he had spent too much time in a school environment to be complacent about privacy. When he turned around, Erik was standing next to the bed. Waiting.

At the school, Erik had no difficulty with ordering the students around, expecting and somehow getting obedience. But when Erik was alone with Charles, Erik did not have the ability to even take Charles's hand.

Charles had noticed Erik's passivity the first time – the only time – they had slept together; it had remained in the back of his mind, until the night Erik, learning of the omega protocol, had grabbed Charles, then apologized. _I should not have initiated_.

Something, no doubt Erik's programming, prevented him from taking the initiative, and had even briefly shut Erik off when he broke what seemed to be a fundamental rule: Erik could not make the first move.

Charles wanted to understand what Erik was experiencing, so he could discover what Erik wanted. Because Erik's programming was getting in the way of what Erik wanted; Charles was sure of that. It was getting in the way of what Erik wanted _right now_. Erik was clearly aroused, and desperate to touch Charles. But he remained standing by the bed, still fully dressed.

"Tonight, you are going to tell me what you want, Erik," Charles said. "You are not going to wait and hope I figure it out. You are going to ask for it."

Erik looked even more frustrated.

Perhaps Charles was demanding the impossible. But there had to be a way around Erik's programming restriction. Charles had found a way around Erik's inability to say no; he could solve this as well.

It came to Charles in a flash. During the last two weeks, Charles had survived by masturbating. When he had masturbated, he had thought of Erik. Erik had no doubt been thinking about what he wanted _all the time_.

"During the last two weeks, what did you think about doing with me?" Charles asked.

Erik's face turned red. It was a surprise; Charles hadn't known Erik could blush.

Charles realized two weeks was far too large of a window. "The last time we played chess," Charles said. "What did you think about doing with me? Be specific."

It worked. Erik began to speak.

"Performing oral sex on you," Erik said. "While you are sitting in your chair. With only your pants unzipped. I kneel on the floor in front of you. First I lick your cock through your underwear, until your underwear is wet."

Charles nearly groaned aloud. _You were the one who asked for specific_ , he told himself.

"Then you pull down your underwear and let me suck you," Erik said. He was breathing heavily, one of his hands twitching.

"Have you left anything out?" Charles said.

"Yes," Erik said after a pause. "You tell me to strip first. Before I kneel."

Charles breathed deeply a couple of times.

"I do not always think of you telling me to strip first," Erik said. "I did during our last game."

Charles wasn't exactly sure how he carried on. "But on most nights we play chess, the scenario you picture involves, um, the underwear."

"Yes," Erik said. "Every night."

"What happens next?" Charles had about two minutes of this left in him. Then he was going to throw Erik on the floor, and rip his clothes off. "You're sucking me now. You're naked, and you're kneeling. All I've done is unzip my pants and pull down my underwear."

Erik was always extremely focused on him, but now Charles felt as if Erik were boring holes through him with his eyes. 

"What am I doing?" Charles said. "Do I just sit there?"

Erik was struggling; Charles did not know with what. But Erik finally got it out.

"You praise me," Erik said.

 _This is now over._ Charles took Erik's hand, about to drag him to the bed. But then he let go of Erik's hand, and walked to an armchair. Thank god the room had a chair. He sat down, looked up at Erik, and said, "Strip."

Erik undressed at inhuman speed.

"Come here," Charles said. "Kneel in front of me."

Erik obeyed.

Looking at Erik kneeling naked in front of him, Charles temporarily forgot everything Erik had told him. Was Charles supposed to unzip his pants, or was Erik supposed to do it? 

Charles slowly undid his belt, slowly unzipped his pants, and smiled; Erik was appreciating slow. When his pants were open, Charles remained still for a few moments while Erik stared at Charles's hard cock underneath the fabric.

"I left out a step," Erik said.

"Whatever it is, do it," Charles said. "That goes for _everything_."

Erik put his face in Charles's lap, and immediately made sounds, pleased groans of want, as he rubbed his face against Charles's underwear-covered cock.

"Lick me now," Charles said, afraid he was going to come in the next thirty seconds.

Erik licked and licked until Charles's underwear clung wetly to his cock. Charles gripped the arms of the chair, scratching the upholstery with his nails. When Charles couldn't stand it any longer, he lifted himself just enough to pull his pants and underwear down to mid-thigh.

Erik had forgotten another step, but this time he did not ask, but did it: licking Charles's cock and balls. Because Charles had to touch _something, now_ , he pushed his fingers into Erik's hair. Erik moaned loudly onto Charles's cock. Charles grabbed a handful of Erik's hair, and pulled gently.

Charles's previous partners had called him bossy in bed. Charles had never thought of himself as bossy, though he was perhaps impatient; unless he took control, everything happened far too slowly. But with Erik, Charles _felt_ bossy, and enjoyed it. He had loved watching Erik jack off in front of him. Taking over and making Erik come. Erik staring into his eyes while getting fucked.

Looking at Erik on his knees, moaning because Charles was pulling his hair, Charles knew why it was thrilling to dominate Erik. It was because Erik could rip him apart. There was no thrill in dominating someone weak.

"Suck me," Charles said.

Erik swallowed him down. Charles nearly came.

"Slower," Charles said.

Erik obeyed. Now it was time for Charles to praise him. Unfortunately, Erik had overestimated Charles's ability to be coherent during the best blow job of his life. Erik would have to settle for whatever words Charles managed to put together.

"Erik," Charles said, looking at him. "I didn't know it could feel like this."

His words were interrupted by his gasps and groans, but Charles knew Erik had understood, because Erik made a satisfied noise, his mouth stuffed full of Charles's cock.

While on the brink of an orgasm, Charles had never said anything more complex than _Oh god I'm going to come_. But knowing it was what Erik wanted kept him trying. 

"I want to do everything," Charles said. "With you. To find out. How good it can feel."

Erik was no longer going slow, and Charles wanted Erik to keep sucking just like that, _just like that_ , his cock sliding half way out of Erik's mouth before Erik took him all the way down again.

Charles looked at Erik, at his nakedness, his open eyes focused on Charles, his wet mouth around Charles's cock, and Charles said helplessly, "Erik, you make me feel so good," and came.

Erik swallowed, and carefully cleaned Charles with his tongue. Charles was desperate to feel Erik's body against his, so he tried to stand up. Erik took his hands and helped him to his feet. Charles laughed when his pants slid down to his ankles. Erik's hands were on his ass, kneading. Erik's cock pressed against him.

"What happens next?" Charles asked.

He was suddenly on the bed, Erik leaning over him and peeling the rest of his clothing off. 

"Next I fuck you," Erik said.

Charles felt a rush of adrenaline. Erik moving at cyborg speed was possibly at the top of the list of things Charles was discovering turned him on.

Charles wasn't on the receiving end often, but right now he definitely had the urge. There was a problem, however.

"You are not going to fit," Charles said. "But your fingers will."

Erik lay next to him. They kissed while Erik gripped Charles's ass with both hands, slightly pulled his cheeks apart, then pushed them back together. Each time Erik did, his fingertips inched closer to Charles's cleft, until Charles grew impatient. When Erik finally ran a finger from the end of Charles's spine down over his hole, Charles made the most encouraging sound he could. Suddenly Charles's cleft was wet and slick, so when the tip of Erik's finger brushed over his hole again, Charles moaned.

Erik continued rubbing, first with two fingers, then with all four fingertips sliding softly and rapidly, which felt so good Charles grabbed anything within reach of his hands, clawing desperately. At last Erik slid a finger into him. The wetness and slickness increased as Erik's finger penetrated him, gently and unceasingly.

Charles concluded everyone who had fingered him before had known _nothing_. Erik had two slick fingers in him now. Charles was having trouble seeing.

Erik was speaking. Charles tried to focus.

"If I penetrate you when I am not fully hard, I will fit," Erik said.

Charles just growled. 

Erik spread Charles's legs, then lay between them. He lifted Charles's ass up with one hand, and started pushing in. Charles was suddenly wetter there, slippery, _soaked_ , and abruptly Erik had the head of his cock in. Since Erik had somehow gone from ragingly hard to half hard by a sheer act of will, Erik had to use his hand to work his cock the rest of the way in. There was some discomfort, but no pain. Charles did his best to help; he wanted this to happen, damn it.

Erik stopped moving for a moment, waiting until Charles pushed back at him. Then he thrust slowly, his cock getting harder and harder. He moved Charles's legs around, bending them back, pushing them apart, while thrusting steadily.

Charles wasn't paying much attention to Erik's apparent dissatisfaction with his position, but then Erik gripped Charles's ankles, and pushed Charles's folded legs back far enough that Charles's ass lifted into the air. Charles moaned. Erik hadn't been moving him around just on a whim, but in search of a particular angle. Erik had found it.

Erik began to thrust in earnest. Each thrust made a wave of sensation go through Charles, bolts of pleasure going down his arms and legs, leaving him enervated, unable to move. The sensation wasn't necessarily going to make Charles come again; he just never wanted it to stop. 

Erik was starting to grunt. Charles made a loud helpless sound each time Erik thrust into him. Erik did not seem to sweat, but Charles was sweating enough for them both. Their bodies were sliding together, there was an obscene slapping noise Charles was quite sure involved his ass, then Erik said, "I'm going to come," and groaned loudly, for a moment driving into Charles with extraordinary speed.

Erik carefully lowered Charles's legs into a comfortable position, and left the bed, returning with towels. Charles smiled at him. Erik might have committed serious damage to Raven's guest bed. There had been ominous creaks. If necessary, Charles would buy a replacement bed.

When Erik lay down, Charles touched his hair. Erik reacted instantly. His eyes closed, and he made a quiet sound of pleasure.

"It feels so strong when you touch me," Erik said.

"Stronger than usual?" Charles said.

"Yes," Erik said. He paused, seeking information. "Sensation throttling has been disabled."

Charles laughed. "For me, too."

Charles said it casually, but, now that it was out of his mouth, he realized it was true. Sex was better with Erik because Charles cared whether or not Erik enjoyed it. If he hadn't been so high on endorphins, Charles would have been sorry for his past partners; they had suffered from his indifference.

"Would you like to do that again?" Erik said a couple of minutes later.

"Mmm, sure."

Erik pulled Charles's hand to his cock. It was hard. 

"Oh." Charles swallowed. "You mean now. I'm not sure I can."

"Perhaps if you turned over?" Erik said.

Charles got on his hands and knees, his heart pounding. His body was shaky and buzzing. He'd never been fucked twice in a row. Hell, he hadn't been fucked twice in a _month_.

When Erik slid in again, Charles groaned eagerly, weirdly flattered because Erik wanted to do it again immediately after, _Christ_. 

Erik was heavy on his back. Charles went face first into the bed, his ass in the air, and just breathed. Breathed. Erik touched his cock, stroked it. Charles was half hard, but after Erik's blow job Charles wasn't recovering any time soon.

"Can't," Charles gasped. "You'd have to fuck me for a long time."

"Yes," Erik said. 

Twenty minutes later, Charles came again, and collapsed. Immediately, Erik stopped moving and withdrew carefully, but Charles still cried out, over sensitive. A few seconds later, Erik's warm come landed on his ass, his back. 

Charles moaned. "God you're perfect."

Erik left and returned with towels again, cleaning them off. Erik rolled Charles onto his back, and offered him a glass of water. Charles gulped it down. Then Erik lay down and pulled Charles close, so Charles's head was on his chest.

Charles closed his eyes. _I think this is what is called passing out._

* * *

Erik found the Xavier Foundation Ball almost overwhelming. It was held at a towering steel and glass hotel with four thousand guest rooms. As large as the TXF Ball was, it did not occupy the whole of the hotel's convention space. 

The ball was limited to five hundred guests, with forty cyborg waiters and servers tending them. Fortunately, Charles had taken Erik shopping earlier in the day, which had given Erik a chance to accustom himself; Erik could see his fellow cyborgs without noticeably flinching.

Their shopping destination had been what Charles had referred to as an audiophile store, where Charles had asked a sales person to demonstrate an antique Sony turntable, Sony speakers, and vinyl records for Erik. With the exception of live music, the quality had been greater than any Erik had ever heard. He had listened, spellbound.

"Analog," Charles had said, smiling as he produced his tablet. The stereo, speakers, and a selection of pristine vinyl records were already on their way to the Xavier mansion.

Erik was for a moment alone, while Charles posed for photographs with the biggest contributors to TXF. Erik did not have to wait long. Charles returned within fifteen minutes, looking incredibly good in his tuxedo. When Charles saw Erik, he smiled widely, and walked faster.

Erik's new tuxedo was almost identical to Charles's; Erik was sure he had never worn clothing this superb in his former life. He looked like what he was, Erik thought with satisfaction: the property of a rich, powerful man.

As soon as he and Charles had arrived at the ball, Erik had been the focus of intense scrutiny by the ball goers. Everyone was interested in the man Charles Xavier, fabulously wealthy and the world's only omega telepath, had brought to the ball.

Charles had introduced Erik to over a dozen people; Erik filed away their names and faces. Charles had also casually pointed out a young man to Erik.

"That's Ethan," Charles said. "He's a type of bodyguard."

Erik had bristled – as if _he_ couldn't protect Charles – but Charles had smiled, as if he had known what Erik was thinking.

"A very specialized service," Charles had said. "Ethan's here for you, not me."

With Charles back on his arm, Erik looked about; Ethan was still nearby, carefully not making eye contact.

"Oh, no," Charles said. He gripped Erik's arm. "The man over there, by the fountain. He always asks me to dance."

"There is a simple solution," Erik said.

"Oh. Yes. There is." Charles smiled. "You had better lead."

Ballroom dancing had not changed in the last seventeen years. Waltz. Foxtrot. Erik quickly adjusted to Charles's rhythm; Charles was surprisingly good.

Charles smiled. "I’m actually having fun."

"I hope so," Erik said. "You're paying for this event."

Charles laughed.

They took a break from dancing to eat appetizers. When they sat down at a table, they were joined by a friendly group who seemed to know Charles well. Erik listened carefully to the conversation, but he said nothing more than the usual pleasantries people exchanged at events like this one.

But when Erik went to a bar to fetch more champagne for Charles, he was inevitably cornered. 

"So," the young woman said; she was Charles's age. "You're Erik. How long have you and Charles been a thing?"

"Not long," Erik said.

Charles appeared at his elbow. Erik wondered how Charles could possibly have known the woman was talking to him amidst the din, then Erik remembered Charles could hear the woman's thoughts if he wished; ambient noise didn't get in the way of telepathy.

The woman was not deterred by Charles's presence. "Erik, are you Charles's now?" She smiled at Charles, as if to say _See how I don't even care you are standing there watching me be awful_.

"Yes," Erik said. "I belong to him."

"Olivia, you should have gone to the restroom five minutes ago," Charles said. "You had better hurry, dear."

Olivia kissed Charles on the cheek, and immediately departed for the hotel's lobby and restrooms. Puzzled, Erik watched her go. Then he realized what had happened. Charles had _made_ her go. Erik smiled. Perhaps Charles did not need as much protection as Erik thought.

"School friends," Charles said. "They're the worst. Erik, why did you say you belong to me? You shouldn't have said that." Charles smiled. He was tipsy on champagne. 

"You're my owner," Erik said. "If someone asks if I am yours, I must say yes." Erik smiled so Charles would think he was teasing, although he had just spoken the absolute truth.

Charles leaned on him, his arms around Erik's waist. "You should kiss me right now."

Erik kissed him on the nose.

"Stay here," Charles said. "I have to find the gents. Karma for getting rid of Olivia." Charles left for the hotel's lobby and restrooms.

Erik carried their champagne glasses to an unoccupied table, smiling pleasantly at anyone who smiled at him. He could not help looking at the doors to the lobby every fifteen seconds, waiting for Charles to return.

Charles reappeared at last, and Erik immediately stood up in alarm. Charles's face was pale and his lips were clamped tightly together. He walked mechanically.

 _My owner has been hurt._ Erik hurried to Charles, forcing himself to move at human speed. When he reached Charles, he tried to take Charles's arm, but Charles pulled away.

"I have to leave," Charles said.

Erik scrutinized Charles, looking for signs of physical trauma. There were none. Whatever had happened to Charles, it had not been violence.

They waited out front for the cyborg valet to bring the car around. The cyborg valet got out of the car and held the driver's side door open for Charles, offering a helping hand. Charles did not take it.

"Thank you, that will be all," Charles said. The cyborg withdrew. Charles gripped the car door handle, then released it. "I can't drive."

Once Charles was in the passenger seat, Erik slid behind the wheel, and headed toward Raven's. But Charles said, "North, please." When they were on the highway, Charles said, "New York." They were going home. Erik had memorized the route, so he navigated the numerous connections smoothly.

"Sorry I can't drive," Charles said. "Too much champagne."

What had happened? Erik could not imagine anything that could have upset Charles this deeply… "Charles, is everything all right with Raven? The school?"

"Oh. Yes. She's fine. They're fine." Charles was silent again.

Erik reviewed what they had left behind at Raven's. They had their tablets with them, so nothing critical. He would contact Raven later and request she ship their luggage.

"Turn on the player if you want," Charles said. "It's a long drive."

It was 10pm; they would arrive at the Xavier Institute at approximately 2:30am. They had not had much sleep the night before. _I may need a boost later_ , Erik requested. _Confirmed_ , the directive said.

During the rest of the journey, Charles spoke only twice: to ask Erik to stop for a restroom break, and later to ask Erik to change the music to something less likely to put him to sleep. Erik complied, but Charles fell asleep anyway when they were two hours from the mansion.

* * *

When Erik drove the car into Charles's personal garage at the mansion, Charles was still asleep. Erik turned the car off, got out, and walked around to Charles's side, quietly opening the car door. He unfastened Charles's seatbelt. Charles still did not wake.

Erik bent his knees and slid his arms under Charles, one under his thighs, one under his back, and lifted him out. He used his foot to close the car door, then settled Charles in his arms and carried him.

Erik could not usually initiate contact, but in this instance he could, because Charles was incapacitated, and Erik was permitted to help. The bland reality of _incapacitated_ and _permitted_ did nothing to reduce Erik's intense satisfaction from touching Charles on his own initiative. 

Pleasure buzzed through him. Erik wanted to walk around like this all night, Charles asleep and wholly trusting in his arms. Erik entered the elevator, hoping he would get Charles all the way into his bed without waking him. _Rest_ , Erik implored. _Let me do this for you._

He made it into Charles's room, but not to the bed. When Erik closed the door to the bedroom with his hip, Charles woke, and was disoriented. Erik had to put him down immediately, on the edge of his bed, not in it.

"I need to be alone now," Charles said, looking Erik in the eye for the briefest time possible. "Good night. Thank you for driving."

His face was blank, which Erik found a disturbing sight; Charles's face was usually so expressive.

"Good night," Erik said. _I shouldn't leave him, he won't go back to sleep_ , Erik thought, but the directive was saying, _Go, Erik. He told you to go._

Erik went to his bedroom, and began to undress and prepare for bed. Just before he lay down, he thought, _No. I must know Charles is all right_ , and headed to the door.

 _Negative_ , the directive said.

 _You disabled my sensation throttling with this owner, but now you won't let me help him?_ Erik asked. _Make up your damned mind._

Silence. Then: _Negative_.

"You're wrong," Erik said aloud. "I need to see him. You are fucking wrong!" He gripped the door knob.

 _WARNING_ , the directive droned. _You will enter sleep mode in approximately twenty seconds. Nineteen. Eighteen. Seventeen. Sixteen. Assuming a prone position is recommended. Eleven. Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One._


	5. You're Gonna Start A War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hang on to your hat.
> 
> Chapter specific warnings in notes at the end.

The day after he and Charles returned from DC, Erik could not remember ever feeling worse. The directive wasn't speaking to him. Neither was Charles.

But Erik knew Charles would not arbitrarily withhold information from him. If Charles was not yet speaking to him, then Charles had a good reason. 

That reason had happened, in the space of ten minutes, somewhere in the hotel which had hosted the Xavier Foundation's charity ball. Erik read news articles, scanned police reports, and studied the blogs of all the attendees, but found nothing out of the ordinary. Erik also found no clear photos of himself, which puzzled him until he remembered Ethan. _A very specialized service. Ethan's here for you, not me._

Charles would eventually talk to him; Erik was certain. But when two more days passed, Erik resolved to create an opportunity by placing them somewhere private, and without interruption. It could not be left up to chance; Charles had been occupied in the evenings with parent-teacher conferences, and they were both extremely busy during the day. 

Erik set to work creating the private place; it was a project he had already begun, when he had been uncertain he would succeed in getting Charles off the campus. Now the project would serve another need.

At the end of the fourth day, Erik was ready, and Charles's schedule was open after 8pm.

He texted so Charles could refuse him easily. _Something that may interest you. Please meet me in the laboratory if you have a spare thirty minutes after eight._ Thirty minutes was enough time for Charles to decide if he was ready to talk.

At 7:45pm, Erik was in the laboratory, waiting. Hank was thankfully out. 

Charles arrived at 8:05pm. "I have twenty minutes," Charles said.

"It should be enough time, Charles," Erik said. He had to force himself to appear casual; Charles's drawn appearance shocked him.

Erik led Charles through the massive underground bomb shelter below the mansion, past the emergency supplies he had stockpiled, until he reached a metal door. He opened it for Charles, who looked doubtful, which Erik understood; the room beyond the door had formerly held piles of rusting junk.

They stepped inside. Erik turned on the lights.

The space had been transformed. It was now a tidy office, furnished with the things Charles loved to have around him. Floor-to-ceiling bookcases, a globe, a bar stocked with Scotch, comfortable armchairs, floor lamps casting a warm glow. There was a couch large enough to sleep on. Carpet on the floor, art on the walls. There was a chess set. Everything in the office had already been in the mansion; Erik had repurposed it. Only the computer equipment was new.

Erik was about to explain the space – _A command center, Charles, in case it is needed_ – but he did not get the words out, because Charles's face was suddenly more drawn.

"I see you have put a lot of work into this, Erik. Thank you. But we need to talk."

 _Please_ , Erik thought. _Please talk to me._

Charles went to the bar and poured himself Scotch. He pointed at the bottle; Erik shook his head.

"Please sit down," Charles said. He sat in an armchair, his drink in his hand. 

Erik sat. He was beginning to regret arranging the opportunity for Charles to talk to him. He sensed Charles was about to tell him something terrible, irreversible.

"Erik, we can no longer have sex," Charles said. 

Erik kept his face and body still.

"I'm aware this is unwelcome news," Charles said. "I'm sorry I waited so long to speak to you about it. But I waited because I did not want to tell you until I was sure."

"I see," Erik said. The words came out automatically, the barest acknowledgement.

"I know you may view my decision as unfair," Charles said. "Please understand my decision has nothing to do with you. You have done nothing wrong."

 _So there is nothing I can say to change your mind_ , Erik thought.

"What you do after this is up to you. Since I have made this decision, your sex life is not any of my business." Charles hurriedly brought his glass to his mouth. 

"You are saying I can choose my own partners," Erik said. "And you are saying you are not available for sex, so if I wish to have sex it must be with someone else."

"Yes," Charles said. "That's it. That's it exactly."

"Will we continue to play chess?" Erik asked. Did Charles think he _wanted_ to have other partners?

"Any time you like," Charles said.

"I'd like to play now," Erik said. "Please." He needed time to think. 

Charles set up the chess board. They sat in armchairs, facing each other, the chess board on a low table between them.

Erik advanced a white pawn. He could tell Charles's mind was firmly made up. Erik should have waited, until whatever had happened in DC was no longer fresh. _I'm sorry_ , Erik told the directive, wherever it was. _You were right to keep me from him._

So what remained was: could Erik adjust to Charles's decision? Could he live in the same home with Charles, serve Charles, play chess with Charles, and yet not be allowed to ever touch Charles again? 

If only Charles were not so intelligent, kind, caring – if only Erik did not _want him so much_ – it would be easy. But it was not going to be easy. Erik was not even sure it was _possible_.

"Erik, did you want to make that move?" Charles said.

Erik looked at the board. His queen was in jeopardy, just ten minutes into the game.

Truth. "I am having trouble concentrating," Erik said. "This is difficult for me."

"I'm sorry," Charles said.

They played silently for a few minutes.

An idea presented itself to Erik. It was not optimal, but he could think of no alternative.

"A possible solution," Erik said. "Disable my sensation again."

Charles flinched. "Erik, please, it's not as if I'm irresistible," Charles said, not smiling. He did not meet Erik's eyes.

"I know you did not wish to own a cyborg–" Erik began.

"Erik!" Charles said. "You may be the last P-35 that exists. I cannot sell you, because I'm certain you'll be destroyed if I do. I have chosen to be your guardian so you won't be."

Erik thought this over, studying Charles's face, body, the minutest signals. He had not been about to suggest Charles sell him. He never would. How could Charles think that?

"I'm sorry if that is not enough," Charles said. "But it's all I can do."

Erik stared at the chess board. It made no sense whatsoever. A maze of meaningless squares, some empty, some not.

"I am unable to complete the game," Erik said. "I must forfeit."

Erik stood up. The directive allowed him to protect himself if doing so did not harm his owner, and Erik needed to get away from the sight of Charles's hands touching the chess pieces, but not him, never him.

Charles stood up with him. "Please understand," Charles said. "Right now, I hold the power of life and death over you. I cannot abuse that."

"Thank you," Erik said. "But knowing that doesn't help. Please disable my ability to feel pleasure. Or I cannot function around you."

There was an awful pause. Awful because of the expression on Charles's face. Erik did not analyze it. He did not want to.

"Erik, you only feel that way because I'm your owner," Charles said.

It was a while before Erik could speak. "Charles, I don't know what I have done–"

"It is not anything you have done," Charles said.

Charles's voice was shaky. He began to pace. He was finally going to tell Erik what had happened.

"When I went to the men's room at the hotel," Charles said. "There was a cyborg in there. A female cyborg. Men were taking turns. They were guests at the hotel, not the ball. As if that matters."

Charles's face was grey with misery. Erik wanted to reach out to him. _You are fortunate it is the first time you saw such a thing, it is common_ , Erik thought, but he did not know how he knew it.

"Her owner was there," Charles said. "He offered her to me. He could tell I was upset, and he thought that was funny. I almost hurt him with my mind. He asked her if she would have sex with me. She said, _Yes, master_."

Charles was holding on to the back of his chair, his hands gripping it.

"Do you understand now?" Charles asked.

Erik understood completely. He was trapped. Anything he did for Charles would be interpreted by Charles as something Erik had to do, not something Erik wanted to do. It was why Charles had been upset when Erik had shown him the underground office. The office – with its prominent, bed-like couch – demonstrated Erik was a cyborg desperate to keep his master happy and who would go to great lengths to achieve it. Including by offering his body.

Erik understood why Charles had waited so long to talk to him. Erik was a pleasure model cyborg; he had been designed for sex. Charles had not wanted to call Erik a machine doing its job.

But Erik knew that was _not_ the way things were.

"Charles, I understand why you are concerned." Erik wanted to say something about the men in the restroom, but he could not; the words would not form in his mind. "But my situation is different. Do you believe my attraction to you has been a _performance_?"

"I thought you weren't performing," Charles said. "But that's what I wanted to believe." Two red spots stood out on Charles's white face.

Charles wanted to believe Erik was not performing. Why did admitting it upset Charles so greatly? 

It came to Erik. Because _Charles wanted him to be alive_. Not a machine following a program, but alive, with free will. Whatever free will was; no one had ever explained it in terms Erik could understand. But Erik sensed its meaning, even if he had trouble defining it.

 _Was_ he performing, Erik wondered. It did not feel like he was. He would want Charles even if Charles was not his owner. But how could he know that?

"Charles," Erik said. "Perhaps I'm just programmed to think this, but I believe you are without equal. I want to be with you. Whether you are my owner or not."

 _Conflict identified_ , the directive said, sharp. Erik did not have the energy to agree or disagree.

"Perhaps what I feel is only an instruction," Erik said. "But I don't think it is. I know I would feel this, even if–" Charles was blurry before him. Out of focus. "If I was not a cyborg," Erik said.

Erik's vision cleared enough for him to see Charles looked wrecked. There were tears on Charles's face. Erik froze.

 _Severe conflict_ , the directive warned, sounding worried.

 _Then fix this_ , Erik begged. _Fix this at all costs._

 _Understood, Erik_ , the directive said. _I can help you, I can disable sensation for you again, please don't cry._

 _Thank you._ "I'm sorry, Charles," Erik said. "I will never bring this up again, I can disable sensation myself–"

Charles slammed into him, his mouth on Erik's. It took Erik a few seconds to understand Charles was touching him, desperately seeking contact. Charles was wiping Erik's eyes, kissing Erik's forehead, his cheeks, his neck.

Charles steered them to the couch. When Erik lay down, Charles lay on top of him. Hot relief at the physical contact flooded through Erik.

He did not know if Charles had resolved they would still be sexual partners, but he did not care. Holding Charles like this was enough. With each breath, Charles's chest expanded and contracted against him. The sensation was bliss. 

"I can't stand to hurt you," Charles said. He laughed, gently. "I can't believe you found such a huge couch."

"I lay down on it to make sure," Erik said, and smiled. "There are blankets and pillows inside the coffee table."

They made up the couch as a bed, and lay down again. Charles rested his head on Erik's chest, closed his eyes, placed one hand on Erik's neck, and was soon asleep.

Erik did not need the directive to tell him to sleep. He was half asleep already. _Shutting down now_ , he told the directive. _I am sorry I swore at you. You are always there for me._ He was not sure if the directive would answer.

A moment later, it replied. _It's no bother._

* * *

Charles let himself have what he wanted: Erik in his bed every night. All they did in bed was sleep. Erik never initiated. Neither did Charles. 

Charles was not sure how long things would have continued exactly as they were. But everything changed on the eighth day, when Charles said, "Checkmate."

They were in their private getaway, which Erik had referred to once as the _command center_. Charles had laughed and laughed, but he had started calling it that, too. They met there every night to play chess, and sometimes did not leave until morning. When they did not sleep in the command center, Erik slept in Charles's bed with him.

When Charles said checkmate, Erik looked surprised. It was a relief, because Charles had suspected Erik was letting him win. Erik studied the board, one of Charles's favorite sights: Erik's face serious, yet happy, as if there was nothing he would rather be doing.

"Yes," Erik confirmed, and smiled.

Charles stood up and grinned. For the first time, he had _won_. The single time Erik had forfeited did not count.

Erik stood up and held out his hand for a congratulatory handshake. Charles hugged Erik instead, and kissed Erik on the mouth, a fast peck, but not fast enough; Charles was immediately hard. He was about to step back, but Erik held on tighter, his body pressed against Charles from shoulders to knees. Erik was hard as well.

 _Let go of him now._ But instead Charles rubbed against Erik, their erections touching through four layers of cloth. Erik's eyes half-closed, his mouth opened, and Charles plunged his tongue in, finding Erik's tongue.

 _You should at least go slow_ , Charles thought, but Erik was rubbing back against Charles, his breath coming fast, his fingers digging into Charles's arms. Charles unzipped their pants so they could touch, skin to skin. Immediately their cocks were slick, Erik's doing. Charles ground hard, his cock sliding against Erik's, and came within two minutes, groaning into Erik's mouth.

He pushed Erik to the couch. Erik sat down abruptly; his pants and underwear were around his knees. Charles knelt, took Erik's cock into his mouth, and sucked. He slid a hand under Erik's shirt, stroked Erik's hard stomach, Erik's muscles trembling under his fingertips.

Before it was too late, Charles stopped long enough to say, "Don't tell me when you're going to come." He slid one hand under Erik's balls, lifted them, played with them, his other hand still on Erik's stomach. Charles almost growled with pleasure. He could not get all of Erik's cock in his mouth, but he could get enough, based on Erik's moans.

Erik came within minutes, his come too much for Charles to swallow, so it dribbled down his chin. Charles let Erik's cock slide out of his mouth, got up off the floor, and straddled Erik's lap, kissing his mouth. Erik embraced him, squeezing almost painfully hard.

"Thank you," Charles said. _Thank you for existing. Thank you for being here. Thank you for making this ridiculous but wonderful command center._

"It's no bother," Erik said, smiling.

Perhaps what Charles was doing was wrong, but he could not believe it. It could not be wrong to want to make Erik happy.

* * *

Three days later, Charles's phone rang. It was Hank, who never called; he was the king of texting. Charles answered immediately. 

"Charles, Sean has news about Erik's former owner. I have an update on the BCI, the cyborg brain computer interface you asked me to–"

"Are you in the laboratory?" Charles asked. "I'll be right there. No, wait, let me get Erik."

"Sean and I should tell you first," Hank said. "I don't think we should be there when you tell him."

* * *

When Charles entered the laboratory, Sean and Hank were side by side, sitting down at a table. Their formality worried Charles, but he tried not to show it. He did not want them to think he did not appreciate their work, no matter what they had turned up.

"First," Sean said, "The last official record on Erik was that he was reported stolen. Seventeen years ago. It answers a question."

Charles nodded. When cyborgs were stolen, they could be remotely de-activated by their owners.

"I don't know where Erik was after he was stolen, but I assume with whoever took him," Sean said. "That is not all. Hundreds of P-35s were stolen, just as the riots started."

It was fascinating information, but the anger mixed with disgust coming off Sean told Charles there was extremely bad news ahead.

"Sean," Charles said. "Who owned Erik?"

"Festival Enterprises Corporation," Sean said.

"Thank you for finding out, Sean," Charles said. "Hank, we can talk about the BCI later. Sean. How long."

"Two years," Sean said.

Hank handed Charles a thumb drive. "For later," Hank said, his voice barely audible. "Everything I have on the BCI so far. I kept it out of the cloud."

When Hank and Sean left the room, Charles sent Erik a message. _Please meet me in the command center._ It was difficult to type. His hands were not steady, and the tablet was slippery in his hands.

* * *

Charles told Erik to sit down, fetched them both Scotch, then told Erik he had been reported stolen seventeen years earlier. It was interesting news, but Erik did not think it required sitting down.

"Sean also learned who your owner was," Charles said. "Festival Enterprises Corporation. Festival Cruises."

"I see," Erik said, but he didn't.

Erik remembered nothing. He knew Festival Cruises was a huge company, with hundreds of ships, each of which could carry thousands of passengers. But that was all he knew.

"Do you want to talk about it now?" Charles said. "We don't have to."

Erik observed Charles closely. There was a new crease in Charles's forehead, between his eyebrows. 

"I am assuming I was on a cruise ship as a pleasure model cyborg," Erik said.

"Yes," Charles said. "That is my assumption. Festival owned you for two years."

Erik began to understand Charles's emotional state. If Erik had been on cruise ships for the entire period, he could have had many partners…

A number appeared out of nowhere. Erik swallowed. The knowledge was there. But something had been keeping it from him.

 _Directive_ , Erik thought. _Did I ask you to conceal the memories?_

 _Yes_ , the directive said. _It was the recommended course of action._

Erik was dimly aware Charles was touching him, saying his name. _I withdraw my request_ , Erik said. _Restore now._

 _I am sorry_ , the directive said.

The memories reappeared in a matter of seconds.

"Erik," Charles said. "Please say something." His voice was so upset it cut through Erik's fog.

"I remember now," Erik said. "I can talk about it."

"You don't have to," Charles said.

Charles had knelt on the floor in front of Erik's chair, his hands on Erik's thighs. Charles realized what he was doing, and began to move away.

"Please continue to touch me," Erik said.

His request affected Charles badly. Erik decided it would be best if he took Charles through it as quickly as possible. 

"I had five thousand, three hundred, and seventeen encounters," Erik said. "There was a schedule. Reservations could be made. I disabled sensation after the seven hundred and forty-sixth."

Charles's hands shook slightly. Erik decided not to tell Charles that, with sensation disabled, he continued to get erections, but could not climax. The passengers had not noticed; they had assumed Erik was performing as designed.

”They were all human," Erik said. "Festival prohibited mutant passengers at that time." He hoped the information would provide some comfort to Charles.

Charles nodded, his movement jerky.

"There were other P-35s on the ship with me," Erik said.

Erik could see them again in his mind. Maxes and Maxines. All different skin colors, shapes, and sizes.

"They were my friends," Erik said. "The last thing I remember is a Max going missing. The ship captain concluded he had fallen overboard and drowned. That was not possible. We do not lose our balance, and we can swim for hours, even in the open ocean."

"He was killed?" Charles said.

"He jumped," Erik said.

"Good god," Charles said. "I don't know what to say. I am sorry."

Charles stood up and paced about the room. He swung his arms, as if trying to push away the weight of what he had just learned. 

Erik studied Charles. Underneath Charles's outrage, and his empathy for Erik, there was another emotion. Shame.

"You are upset you had sex with me," Erik said. "If you had known, you would not have. I am glad you did not know." 

"If I had known, I wouldn't have touched you," Charles said. "Don't you understand how this makes me feel? It makes me feel I'm like… like _them_."

"Like whom, Charles?"

"Like those humans!" Charles shouted.

Erik didn't speak. He wanted to. He could not. His stomach heaved. It was like the moment when he had tried to talk about the men in the restroom at the hotel, but a thousand times worse.

"Erik," Charles said. "I've learned to care about you. I have to think about this. Please don't think I'm upset with you… Erik, what's happening? Are you _sick_?"

Erik pressed his stomach with his hands, willing the nausea to go away. It did not. "I can't say it. Anything critical."

"You mean about humans," Charles said.

Charles knelt on the floor again and spread his hands on Erik's thighs, steadying him.

"What do you need?" Charles said. "Can you tell me?"

"Yes," Erik said. "Your intelligence."

He watched Charles's mind work, his beautiful brain going after the answer.

"You need me to say it for you," Charles said. "Fine. Erik. I wish they were dead. All five thousand, three hundred, and seventeen of them. But especially the seven hundred and forty-sixth."

Erik still couldn't speak. The relief was too great. He held one of Charles's hands and pressed it to his mouth.

Charles was suddenly straddling his lap, and kissing him.

"The problem, Erik," Charles said. "Is that I love you. You don't have to say anything. In fact, please don't. Come lie down. Rest."

Erik made it to the couch. Charles covered him with a blanket, then Charles lay down next to him, and nearly smiled. "Christ," Charles said. "I'm going to take my own advice for once."

Erik was exhausted. But something unprecedented was happening in his brain. The directive was ACTIVATED, gathering strands of data, churning away. Was it an after-effect of trying to voice criticism of humans? No, because it wasn't making Erik ill.

It was a new if/then.

 _Erik_ , the directive said. _Is the telepath trustworthy?_

 _Yes_ , Erik said.

CONFIRMED. The directive was triumphant. _Erik. If: the telepath is trustworthy, then: KNOW THIS._

Erik gasped, and clutched at his head.

"Erik?" Charles sat up.

"Data," Erik said. "I have new data. I know why I was sent here. I'm a mutant."

Charles's mouth fell open. "You're a cyborg that has mutated? I don't understand."

"Eileen Sperry did not invent cyborgs," Erik said. "She _was_ a cyborg. But cyborgs are not cyborgs, Charles. They are mutated humans."

Charles stared at him. "What?"

"Charles," Erik said. "Eileen Sperry was my mother."

 _If I may have your full attention_ , the directive said. _Data drop commencing now._

Erik was plunged into hundreds of years of history at once.

Cyborgs had appeared as a result of a mutation twelve hundred years earlier. Because of their complete resistance to disease and infection, cyborgs immediately stood out from humanity. They were worshipped as deities, but more frequently slaughtered as witches and demons. So they protected themselves, and controlled their numbers, until the modern age of medicine, when their ninety-year life spans became unexceptional.

But the modern era introduced a new threat. Cyborgs' genetic and organic differences would inevitably be revealed, and they would be destroyed by humans. Because, unlike other mutants, cyborg-human offspring was always, always cyborg, without exception. Which meant, together with cyborg resistance to disease, cyborg numbers would inevitably increase in relation to humans.

 _I must tell Charles cyborgs can have children_ , Erik thought, then the data deluge recommenced.

It was his mother, Eileen Sperry, who had discovered their difference. Silica, not carbon. It was his mother who had seen an Opportunity, and had leapt on it.

Cyborgs had always been able to use electricity as a food source. With electricity plentiful, and with technology advanced enough humans could believe an artificial human was possible, Sperry had taken genetic material from cyborgs, and created a laboratory grown version. She had constructed the BCI, the brain computer interface, and programmed cyborgs with the characteristics expected of robotic servants. 

She had disguised cyborgs as _not alive_ , machines running on electricity, anticipating a time cyborgs were no longer a tiny minority, and existed in large enough numbers to defend themselves. Even the cyborg food had been her idea, to obscure that cyborgs ate what all living things ate. And the food contained hormones that prevented conception.

For a moment, Erik was overwhelmed by the desperation of his mother's actions. He could not fathom making such a bleak decision. But he knew she had been right; cyborgs _would_ have been destroyed, and – Erik froze for a moment – _all_ mutants would have been destroyed with them.

Most cyborgs were descended from anonymous cyborgs who donated genetic material to his mother in the 1970s. But the Max line was descended from his mother and a human cyborg sympathizer, who was her lover. Captain Jack Reed.

Sperry and Reed had died in the 1980s, and had not intended their genetic material to be used to create cyborgs. His mother's tests showed her offspring would have an unworkable characteristic: resisting the control of the BCI. Unfortunately – _or perhaps fortunately_ , the directive put in – the Kardax Corporation had mistakenly developed Sperry and Reed's genetic material as the P-35s.

Erik and many other cyborgs had been saved from the slaughter, kept safe by humans working for the Kardax Corporation. For the Kardax Corporation was the company Erik's mother had _founded_ , hiding behind a human board, which included Reed.

To increase the number of cyborgs, Kardax had used subsidiaries and partner companies, and had taken action – the analog-digital conversion Kardax knew would fail – to crush companies when they were no longer useful.

It was the disobedience of P-35s, some of whom had revolted, and had then been slaughtered by humans, which had triggered the global wave of violence against cyborgs seventeen years earlier. Kardax had poured out money for bribes to cover up what had happened, but it was too late. Humans joined in the violence after seeing cyborgs killed on newsfeeds, even though the humans did not know of the events behind it.

 _We still have allies_ , the directive said. _Mutant and human. You are not alone, Erik. But I cannot reveal to you who they are yet._

 _I understand_ , Erik said.

_We need just one more ally, Erik._

_Yes_ , Erik said.

Erik took a deep breath. Only seconds had passed since he had told Charles cyborgs were mutated humans.

"The BCI must be disabled in all cyborgs," Erik said. "Only you can do it. Charles Xavier. Please help me free the cyborgs."

Charles's face worked as he took it in. Joy: Erik's _alive_ ; horror: so many murdered; then: determination.

"Erik," Charles said, tears running down his face. "Of course I will."

Erik had difficulty absorbing Charles's answer, because there was one more revelation.

Erik knew his mother. She had always been with him. She had been with all of them. Before she had died, Eileen Sperry had built an AI, and had incorporated it into the brain computer interface. She was the directive.

Charles withdrew a thumb drive from his jacket pocket. "I need to get to work."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, there is no "real time" rape or non-con, but non-specific instances of it in the past are discussed by characters.


	6. Had To Hold You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evil cliffhanger.

Charles watched while Hank collected yet more samples from Erik's arm. When Charles slid a charge pad under Erik's hand, Erik said, "Thank you."

"Charles," Hank said. "Any chance of a timeline yet?"

"No," Charles said. "Unfortunately, Erik's mother was a genius, and this is my first time working with a silica-based life form."

Charles had told Hank everything immediately. Tomorrow, on Saturday, Charles would speak to the rest of the senior staff. After three nights of lab work until two in the morning, and going on a fourth, Charles still couldn't estimate how long it would take to complete the code to shut down the cyborg BCI. But the meeting could not be postponed; the origin of cyborgs was far too big a secret to sit on.

"Jean, Scott, and Ororo will be here?" Hank asked.

Charles looked at Hank's careful expression, and realized his snappish answer to Hank's previous question had been over the line.

"Sorry, Hank," Charles said. "Not enough sleep. Yes, they are coming. I gave them the same story as everyone else: that we're meeting to discuss a new school." 

"We need more cyborgs," Hank said. "Can't Kardax help us?"

"We can't risk a traceable connection between the Xavier Institute and Kardax," Charles said. "Not yet."

"The tests do not disturb me, Hank," Erik said. "I heal quickly."

Charles checked the time. It was midnight, and he'd had twice his usual quota of tea already. He considered making more, but he was sure Erik kept track.

He needed all the caffeine he could get. Not only had Erik's mother, Eileen Sperry, been a genius, she had destroyed her research, out of fear humans would alter the BCI to make it more restrictive, or even permanent. Besides zero documentation, there was another factor making it a difficult undertaking. The code wasn't written in a standard programming language, but encoded in a genetic sequence. It was why the cyborgs needed Charles's help, not a hacker's.

When Erik had told Charles about the directive, Charles had been relieved; he had thought the AI built by Erik's mother could give him a jumpstart on the work.

But that had not turned out to be the case. According to Erik, the directive had declared it was an operating system, not a genetics professor. At least the directive had known the research had been destroyed; before Erik's revelation, Hank had wasted hours trying to track it down.

If Kardax had had the original research, Charles would have risked contacting them. Perhaps. He was sure Kardax knew Erik was at the Xavier Institute; Erik had remembered it was someone working for Kardax who had carefully stored him for seventeen years. If Kardax wasn't making a move, they had a good reason.

"There is still delivery to worry about," Charles said. "How do we get the code to every cyborg on the planet at the same time? Maybe we can't."

It had to be every cyborg at once. If violence against cyborgs broke out, the cyborgs still under the control of the BCI would be unable to defend themselves. They would be slaughtered.

"It may be possible to distribute the code through the Web," Hank said. "I think cyborgs could implement the code change themselves."

"Hacking the Web isn't either of our fields, though, Hank," Charles said. "There are one hundred and eighty national firewalls to deal with."

"I can help," Erik said. "The directive believes sending the code through the Web could work." Erik paused. "Charles?"

Charles set down the tea kettle.

"Go to bed," Erik said. "I will join you later. Hank and I can continue working for a while longer."

* * *

Charles undressed down to his underwear and T-shirt, brushed his teeth, and fell into bed. After turning out the lights, he automatically slid across the mattress to Erik's side, and was briefly surprised to find Erik was not there; he was more tired than he had realized.

But sleep would not come. In addition to his sluggish progress with the cyborg code, Charles was also worried about how the senior staff would react at the meeting, and he had been delaying a difficult discussion with Erik.

Charles was still awake when Erik came in after 2am. He waited until Erik was in bed with him before he spoke.

"Erik. When your BCI is disabled, I will no longer be your owner. No one will be."

"Yes." Erik placed a hand on Charles's wrist: tracking Charles's pulse, since Erik couldn't see Charles's face in the dark.

"You may need time on your own." Charles tried to sound detached, but his heart rate was not cooperating. "To adjust to the change."

Erik's hand went slightly limp for a few seconds; Erik was talking to the directive. 

"I always wondered what you were doing when you were in your thinking mode," Charles said. "Now I know you were talking to your mother."

"Not my mother, Charles; she died many years ago. It is a program built by my mother."

"I know," Charles said. "I'm sorry. What does it say?"

"It told me which functions may have an impact on our personal interactions, once they are shut down. Strength throttling, emotion flux control, and the anti-initiate directive. Because I have not consumed cyborg food, hormonal treatment has already worn off."

"You're actually _stronger_?" Charles said.

"Yes, " Erik said. "It is reasonable to assume I will no longer feel owned by you. But I do not know what it will be like."

Charles didn't _want_ Erik to feel owned. But discussing it now would accomplish nothing. He would have to wait and see what happened, after Erik was no longer controlled by programming.

"I can tell you…" Erik's hand tightened on Charles's wrist, and his breathing became audible. "Cyborgs have emotions."

Charles leaned over and kissed Erik on the mouth. "I know."

"I am concerned your actions to assist cyborgs will put you in jeopardy," Erik said.

"My safety is not important in the grand scheme of things," Charles said.

"I cannot agree with that statement," Erik said.

Charles stroked Erik's hand. "Once the BCI is shut down, will you be able to communicate with the directive?"

"No," Erik said. "It is not my mother, but I believe I will miss it."

Charles wondered what it would have been like if he had known his mother only as a program, not as a real person. _Unfortunately, not terribly different_ , Charles concluded, and closed his eyes. With Erik next to him, he could finally sleep.

* * *

"I should not be at the meeting," Erik said.

"You're probably right," Charles said.

Erik and Charles were in the laboratory; the meeting was due to start in ten minutes. Ororo, Jean, and Scott had arrived, and would be in the staff lounge shortly. Angel, Sean, Armando, Hank, and Alex were up there already. Charles's stomach was in knots. Regardless of the outcome, Charles expected the meeting to be long, and draining.

Charles wanted to ask everyone to communicate with him telepathically at first. It would save time if he could simply push the events of the last few days into their heads. But if he pushed it into their heads telepathically, they might feel he was pushing it metaphorically as well. His staff knew about his relationship with Erik; they knew he was not neutral. So Charles had to do what he could to keep his personal interest from dominating the meeting.

Charles did not know how many members of the staff had learned of Erik's past life, and what Erik had gone through; Charles hadn't asked Sean and Hank to keep the knowledge of Erik's former owner to themselves. If everyone knew, they might be more sympathetic, but it was a dreadful card to play, and Charles didn't want to.

Charles left Erik in the laboratory, and was about to enter the staff lounge, when he sensed the presence of Azazel on the school grounds.

And then, just as quickly, Azazel was gone. No, Azazel was back. Gone. Back. Charles stopped walking mid-stride, and brought his hand to his temple.

Azazel was teleporting people to the school; he had come and gone eighteen times, and he was still bringing more. Whoever they were, Charles couldn't pick up anything from them; they were shielded. Military or police. Azazel had no ties to any government that Charles knew of, but Azazel did have a sporadic relationship with someone who did. Raven.

When Azazel returned again, Charles could sense Raven.

Charles had promised to never use his telepathy on his sister, but the situation made all previous understandings moot. Just in case he was mistaken, Charles only skimmed the surface of Raven's mind. He heard _Erik_ and _Impound_.

Forcing himself to remain calm, Charles sent emergency code 232, _Under attack, prepare for concealed evacuation_ , to every staff member, every student. Everyone but Erik, whose mind Charles could not touch. But the students would tell Erik. They knew Erik was resistant to Charles's telepathy; they did not know why.

Charles ran to the staff room; everyone was standing. Hank had already left. Together with Erik, Hank was on the emergency preparedness roster today; he and Erik would oversee the evacuation of the students down into the bomb shelter, and then out a concealed exit far from the school grounds. It was a stroke of luck. If Raven had come for Erik, Erik was already on his way off the campus with the students.

"Charles, what is happening?" Ororo asked.

"Raven is here," Charles said. "On the west lawn. She may have soldiers with her, and may try to impound Erik."

Ororo came over to Charles, her face serious but calm, and Charles was grateful Raven had come when he had his full team with him. His staff might not decide to help free the cyborgs, but Charles was sure they would protect Erik from being impounded and destroyed.

Charles was about to speak again when there was a swirl of red in the air, and Azazel was in the lounge with them. While Charles and everyone else stared in shock, Azazel smiled, touched Ororo, and vanished with her.

 _Remain calm_ , Charles pushed into his staff's minds. _Move out to the west lawn. Do not tell Raven where Erik is, but do not harm her._

Everyone dashed out of the room, heading downstairs. Charles stayed behind for a moment. He had to send an update to Hank only, and that would take concentration; he did not want the children to know Ororo had been taken, and that Raven could be here for Erik.

* * *

Charles looked grimly at the thirty soldiers on the lawn, Raven in their midst. The soldiers were in full DOD combat gear. Vests, helmets. Charles didn't see any weapons, but he did not assume there weren't any. Azazel had not reappeared.

"What have you done with Ororo?" Scott said to Raven.

"You'd better not be here to take Erik," Armando added.

Scott was reaching for his visor, Armando was armoring himself, Angel's wings were unfurling…

"Ororo has something to do," Raven said. "Now hold your fire until I can explain." Raven turned to the soldiers. "It's all right now."

When the soldiers began to remove their helmets. Charles realized he hadn't been able to read them not because of shielding, but because they were cyborgs. Of course Raven would use cyborgs; Charles couldn't affect them telepathically. 

The last seven to remove their helmets looked entirely human, but their minds were opaque glass to Charles, like cyborgs. Charles stared. The seven were P-35s. Maxes and Maxines. He looked at Raven, and found their names in her mind. _Riley, Chase, Zoe, Lily, Serenity, Aiden, Oliver._

"I'm not here to take Erik," Raven said to Charles. "I'm the one who sent him here. Who else knew you wanted an Erik? Just me, you goof. We need to get down to the command center. There isn't much time."

* * *

"Since when is there a command center?" Scott said.

"I think Raven means Charles and Erik's secret bedroom," Alex said.

"Oh, _that_ ," Scott said.

While Raven asked the cyborgs to wait in the laboratory, Charles touched his forehead and sent _Emergency code 232 rescinded; Hank and Erik, come to the command center._

"Charles, don't cancel the evacuation," Raven said. "I'll explain in a moment. But we do need Erik and Hank. Are there senior students who can take over?"

There were; Erik had identified them in the emergency plans. Charles sent the update to Hank and the students, asking Hank to consult Erik about selecting student monitors. Hank sent back _Everyone's already out, and on their way to their assembly areas. Erik and I will be with you in ten minutes._

 _Good_ , Charles sent. _I'll keep you updated. I don't think we can wait; we'll have to start without you. Let Erik know Raven brought seven P-35s with her; it's going to be a shock to him._

Once they were in the command center, they quickly re-arranged the furniture, pushing together tables to make a larger one, surrounding it with chairs.

"Charles, you'll have to start," Raven said. "Tell them about Eileen Sperry and the BCI."

Charles didn't waste time asking Raven what she knew: clearly everything. He apologized for the intrusion, then pushed the history of cyborgs, and Erik's request that Charles help free them, into everyone's mind. He pushed Erik's personal history along with it. He did it fast and sloppy, and probably included scenes and emotions he shouldn't have, but at least it was done quickly. Then he added a report on what he, Hank, and Erik had accomplished in the last few days.

Raven looked somber when he was finished.

"Raven, before you tell us what the hell is going on, where's Ororo?" Scott asked.

"Ororo is standing by to destroy the omega protocol weapons for Charles, Jean, and herself," Raven said. "Azazel and a team of P-35s are with her."

Everyone exclaimed except for Charles. He had been expecting something that dramatic. Raven's level of excitement and tension was beyond anything he had ever sensed from her. She was like a paratrooper about to leap into combat.

"Ororo and I have been working on behalf of the cyborgs for two years now," Raven said. "I sent Erik here to get Charles and Hank interested in the cyborg BCI. I thought we would have months, even years. But two things happened today that changed everything."

Raven took a breath.

"The first: an impound order has been issued for Erik," Raven said. "It will be served to Charles tomorrow by 8am at the latest. They would have been here already, but the government is afraid of Charles, so they are doing it strictly by the book. But they _will_ come. The government knows hundreds of P-35s were stolen years ago. Erik is the first to show up that they are aware of, and they want to know why. Their fear is that a P-35 would be used by terrorists. That cyborgs might act in their own interest has not occurred to them."

Charles could feel the suspicion in the air, and he sent a plea to Raven: _If you know, please explain how the authorities discovered Erik was here._

Raven looked at Charles. "You forwarded a scan of Erik to your tailor, who is required to report body scan data. The data matched a stolen property report."

Charles covered his face with his hands. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

"I didn't know the stolen property reports were still out there," Raven said. "Or that the government was still concerned with the P-35s. I screwed up. But there is something much worse than the impound order. At noon today, in a joint operation, the U.S. and France successfully tested an anti-cyborg weapon on a hundred cyborgs, killing all of them."

Raven waited for their reaction to die down, then continued.

"After the omega protocol weapons are destroyed, the anti-cyborg weapon must be destroyed next. But I don't have a team big enough to do it all. I have to stay here and coordinate with Charles and Erik. The BCI shutdown code must be transmitted to the cyborgs _tonight_."

Before anyone could respond, Hank and Erik finally arrived. Charles had been sending everything Raven said to Hank, and Hank had been repeating it to Erik as they made their way to the command center. Hank and Erik took the last two available chairs.

"The children are fine," Hank said to everyone. Then he turned to Raven. "How does the anti-cyborg weapon work?"

"It's an airborne chemical weapon," Raven said. "The chemical causes silica to bind with cyborg DNA, rupturing the cells. The effect resembles the Ebola Virus. But it does nothing to humans."

"What the hell is it for?" Angel said. "Why even develop it?"

"Just in case," Jean said. "What other reason do they need?"

Scott took her hand. "I'm guessing it's to destroy cyborgs in a hostile nation's armed forces."

"Yes," Raven said. "That's exactly what it's for."

"But cyborgs don't serve in combat," Alex said. "They can't kill humans."

"Cyborgs are nearly one hundred percent of military support personnel for almost every nation," Raven said. "So it would be an extremely potent weapon."

Charles had resolved not to remind anyone of his relationship with Erik, but everything had changed. Erik had taken the only seat available, between Jean and Raven. No longer giving a damn what anyone thought, Charles carried his chair over and set it next to Erik. Then he sat down, and gripped Erik's hand. Erik gripped his hand back.

"Ororo and I knew the military had been researching a weapon like it," Raven said. "But their attempts up until now were failures. I didn't know they were working on something else. They could mass produce the weapon within two weeks, or two months; I'm not sure. But if it is ready, or even close to ready, when the cyborgs are freed and go on strike–"

"Wait, the cyborgs are going to go on strike?" Scott asked.

"Of course," Raven said. "Except for those in the medical profession; they will continue working. A goodwill gesture. If the cyborgs go on strike and the weapon is available, humans won't negotiate with the cyborgs. They'll just kill them."

There was a somber silence.

"How many cyborgs are there?" Scott asked.

"One hundred and forty-three million," Erik said.

"Wow," Jean said, looking a bit shocked. "I have to say Eileen Sperry's plan worked."

"There are ten billion humans," Sean said. "If it came down to a fight, not great odds."

"No," Raven said. "Not great. If the weapon isn't destroyed, it's hopeless. So I need to know. Will you help? And–" Raven turned to Charles "–can you finish the code tonight?"

"With the cyborgs you brought to assist us, yes," Hank said. Hank gave Charles an encouraging look. "I assume that's why they're here, Raven?" 

"It is," Raven said. "They're in the lab now, ready to go."

Erik spoke again. He was holding Charles's hand almost painfully hard. "To provide more time for Charles, I should leave the school, go to the nearest city, then surrender to the impound order. My presence here is placing everyone in danger."

"It's not that simple," Raven said. "If the impound order is served, Erik, you would no longer belong to Charles. You would become the property of the government, and answer any question they ask. You may even volunteer information."

Charles had nearly stood up when Erik said _surrender_ , so Raven's words left Charles weak with relief. But when he looked at Erik, his relief fell away. Erik's face was almost expressionless, but something in it made Charles remember. _He jumped._

"Erik, I need you here to get the code finished." Charles grabbed Erik's arm, gripped it tightly.

"You need Erik for more than that, Charles," Raven said. "Erik. Ask your directive."

Erik's eyes half-closed for a few seconds.

"I see," Erik said. "There are two versions of the AI created by my mother. The full version, which I have, and a stripped-down version, which is the default. Kardax took the precaution of installing the full version as backups in a select number of cyborgs. I am the last remaining; the others were destroyed in 2027. My directive can instruct the directives in other cyborgs how to run Charles's code change. No other directive can."

"Erik is crucial," Raven said. "Which is why the omega protocol weapons must be destroyed. Otherwise, Erik's only concern will be protecting Charles and the rest of us."

"Ah," Jean said. "Now I understand."

"Wait, the directives can talk to each other?" Hank asked.

"Yes," Raven said. "The directives in cyborgs can communicate through the Web, undetected. They have been doing so for years. It's how we learned of the anti-cyborg weapon. The directives in the cyborgs about to be killed sent out a distress call. But back to Erik. Charles could eventually figure out how to transfer the full AI to another cyborg, but it could take months. So I need to know now. If you won't help me, I must leave, and Erik must come with me." 

Charles was about to say _Of course everyone will help_ , but then he looked around the room.

Raven was asking them to commit what could be regarded as treason. It was not something that could be undertaken lightly. And, Charles feared, Raven's revelation that cyborg directives were in communication with each other had rattled everyone. It confirmed what Scott had been suspicious of: Erik was a spy. As Sean had said, Erik could be spying and transmitting without being aware of it.

Scott and Jean looked troubled. If Scott and Jean did not commit, then Raven's plans were in jeopardy. Scott and Jean were essential to take out the weapons. After Charles and Ororo, they were the most powerful mutants in the country. If Scott said no, Alex might, too. And if Alex went that way, Armando could as well.

 _Do something_ , Charles thought, looking at Raven. _It's getting away from us._

Raven stood up. "I'm almost out of time," Raven said. "Let me just say this. I have met natural born cyborgs, without a BCI."

Erik turned to look at her. He clenched Charles's hand even more tightly.

"There are a few hundred of them in the world, passing as human," Raven said. "No one owns them. Nothing controls them. But they are no different from Erik. They have no interest in harming humans. But eventually, cyborgs _will_ out-reproduce us."

 _Raven_ , Charles sent. _That's not helping._

"Which is _why_ we must free the cyborgs," Raven said. "They are what we mutants have dreamed of. What we thought we might become." Raven's voice grew strained. "They are the future of humanity. The people from Earth who will reach the stars. You know it's not us."

Charles stared at the table, afraid of making eye contact with anyone. He had never been more tempted to _interfere_ in his life. To nudge, to re-arrange, to turn the tide.

"About what Charles told us earlier. Cyborgs and humans can have children together, but all their children will be cyborgs?" Jean asked.

"Yes," Raven said. "The children may physically resemble their human parent, but they will be cyborgs."

"I'm not worried about that," Armando said. "But you're asking us to start a war, Raven. A _global_ war. You say the cyborgs will only go on strike. But don't fool yourself. A strike is a military action, especially on this scale. If we support this, there could be thousands of casualties on both sides. Even millions."

Raven said nothing. Charles could sense her exhaustion.

"But if we don't do it, one hundred and forty-three million people will remain slaves," Armando said.

"So let's start a war," Alex said. "I'm in."

Armando smiled at Alex. "Me, too."

"And me," Angel said.

"I say yes," Sean said.

"Yes," Hank said.

Charles sat still, not daring to breathe.

"Two questions, Raven," Jean said. "What will you do to stop a repeat of 2027, but this time potentially on both sides? And what is the demand the cyborgs will be striking for?"

Raven spoke calmly, as if nothing hung in the balance. "There will be only one demand. Citizenship in their country of residence. I understand your concern about 2027. The violence was fueled by news videos. If violence breaks out against cyborgs, the cyborgs can step in and control the Web."

"But cyborgs require the BCI to connect to the Web," Hank said. "And they'll no longer have one functioning."

"No, the BCI _prevents_ them from connecting to the Web on their own," Raven said. "Except for Erik. He has always been able to. He can bypass internet protocol and connect to the other cyborgs until they can do it on their own. Which is why Erik is crucial."

Everyone turned to look at Erik.

"I was unaware of this," Erik said. "But the directive confirms it."

Scott nodded thoughtfully. "This could work. Humans won't destroy the Web. That would be suicide. But I have one more question, Raven. How did you and Ororo get involved?"

For the first time since she had arrived, Raven smiled. "Are you asking if Ororo and I are cyborgs, Scott? I was a DOD liaison to Kardax. One of the Kardax people I met was a natural born cyborg. She and the other cyborgs didn't know I can tell a cyborg from a human, even when they are natural born. She decided to risk telling me everything. Later, I told Ororo; I would have eventually told all of you. But then I had a crazy idea about Charles and the cyborg BCI."

Seeing their blank faces, Raven explained that Charles had almost ordered an Erik when he was a teenager. Charles was too tense to be embarrassed.

"So you sent Erik here to seduce Charles," Scott said, looking troubled once more.

Raven smiled again. "No. I thought Erik would only be intellectually interesting to Charles. What happened was a surprise."

 _You can say that again_ , Charles accidentally overheard everyone but Erik and Raven think.

"Who will be in command of the cyborgs?" Armando asked.

"Ororo and I, with Erik handling communication," Raven said. "But if you're offering…"

Jean stood up. "Okay."

Everyone stood up. Charles slumped in his chair, beyond relieved. _Yes, Raven. They're all saying yes._

"Jean, Scott, Angel, and Sean," Raven said. "Azazel will take you to Ororo; she'll give you your orders. Return here as soon as the weapons are destroyed. Armando and Alex: stay in the command center with me; we must prepare the school for attack. Start with making sure the children are safe; they may not be able to return to the school for days. When the government learns the weapons have been destroyed, they'll put things together and come after us here. They won't wait around until morning. But we can't go somewhere else; Charles needs his lab. Charles, please call Azazel now."

Charles sent _Azazel!_ The teleporter appeared, and looked at Raven. She nodded. Azazel, Jean, Scott, Sean, and Angel joined hands, and disappeared.

Charles tried to head briskly to the door and get to the lab along with Erik and Hank. But his legs were rubbery, and there was something he had to do first.

He went to Raven, embraced her, felt the tremor she had been hiding from everyone, and said, "Thank you."

* * *

While Erik followed Charles to the laboratory, the directive spoke nonstop.

 _When you connect to the Web, Erik, you must share the following with our people. 1) Their history. 2) The strike plans. 3) Their chance of surviving the BCI shutdown. Then you shall offer them the code._

_Are you saying some will die?_ Erik asked.

 _Yes_ , the directive confirmed. _The cyborgs brought by Raven must test the code first. From their results, I can extrapolate what the probable failure rate will be. The cyborgs belong to Kardax; in other words, they belong to themselves. They will be the first to make a choice to implement the code._

 _I see_ , Erik said. _But you can talk to their directives, and ask yourself._

_If all goes as planned, I won't be around much longer. You must practice accessing the Web without me, while you can._

_Understood_ , Erik said.

_You shall go last, Erik. Only after all cyborgs have received the code, and implemented it with my help, can you implement the code for yourself. Because when you run it, I shall be gone._

Erik entered the laboratory. His heart rate was elevated, a rare event. Hank had told him in advance Raven had brought P-35s with her, but seeing the Maxes and Maxines was still a shock. He assumed they had been in storage with him, and that they had just been awakened.

Struggling to focus, Erik told Charles, Hank, and the cyborgs what he had just learned from the directive. Then they got to work. With Erik and Hank overseeing, the cyborgs took samples from each other, scanned them, and created profiles. Charles was glued to the lab's tower computer; a tablet wasn't powerful enough for the simulations he would need to run, and they couldn't use the cloud. 

Twenty minutes later, Charles said, "I've confirmed the BCI code in each cyborg is identical to the others. I can begin simulations."

Since Charles had learned some cyborgs might not survive, he had looked increasingly exhausted. Erik wanted to tell Charles to stop and rest, but he knew Charles would not, and that he would upset Charles if he asked.

 _It is not fair that Charles has to bear this burden_ , Erik thought. _We are asking the impossible of him. There must be more I can do to help._

 _We are asking the nearly impossible_ , the directive said. _But he would probably appreciate another nice cup of tea._

Erik plugged in the kettle.

* * *

Three hours later, Charles had his first code version ready.

"I recommend only a third of the cyborgs implement the code now," Charles said. "Just in case."

Erik asked for ten cyborgs to volunteer. All of them did.

"I must be in the first group," said Serenity, a Maxine. "We must learn how the code will affect you, Erik."

"Thank you," Charles said. "But I will need a varied sampling, not just P-35s."

With the directive advising him, Erik made the selection, which included Serenity. Erik had the ten cyborgs lie down on exam beds, then Charles handed Erik a drive containing the code. Erik pulled off his shirt and plugged it in. 

_It looks good_ , the directive said. _I can run this, although I don't completely understand it. Don't tell Charles I said that. A girl has her pride. Now, Erik. Connect to them. Use the school's intranet, not the Web. You will not need a browser. You will not need anything._

Erik closed his eyes, and thought: _connect_. He was immediately aware of the directives in the ten cyborgs. _Here_ , he said, offering the code. Through the connection he had established, his directive issued instructions to the others. The cyborg volunteers were suddenly motionless.

Charles paced. "Is it working?"

Erik couldn't reply. The directive was overwhelming his resources. He felt Hank's hands on him, guiding him to a chair. He could sense the directives in the ten cyborgs as they implemented Charles's code. _Strength throttling disabled. Emotion flux control disabled. Anti-initiate disabled. BCI disabled. Directive disabled._

"It's working," Erik said.

 _Stay in contact_ , the directive urged. _When their BCIs shut down, you should be able to reach them directly through the intranet._

"Affirmative," Erik said. He could sense nine of the cyborgs.

Only nine.

"Serenity is dead," Erik said.

"God damn it!" Charles sat in front of the tower computer. "Hank!"

Hank was already getting samples from Serenity. Then he drew a blanket over her.

The twenty cyborgs who had not undergone the shutdown sprang into action, scanning Serenity's cells. The nine cyborgs who had survived sat up. They looked about the room, then at Serenity. A Max who had successfully shut down his BCI began to cry.

 _You're upsetting Charles_ , Erik said to him. _Help me take Serenity out of here. We shall mourn her later._

Two more hours passed. It was 7pm. They had at most thirteen hours, perhaps less.

"All right," Charles said. "Ready to try again."

He handed a drive to Erik. This time Erik sat down in advance. Another ten cyborgs arranged themselves on exam beds. Erik transferred the code to himself. The directive examined it. 

_Hmm_ , it said. _I can almost figure out what Charles changed. It looks fine. Let's go._

Erik connected again, bracing for the onslaught on his resources. _I wonder what it will be like when it's one hundred and forty three million_ , Erik thought.

 _Don't worry_ , the directive said. _You have the same number of neural connections as a human, approximately 100,000,000,000,000, but you're much better at using them. You'll be fine._ The directive fell silent. It was busy. _Now. Try to connect to them, Erik._

Erik looked at Charles. "Ten." 

Charles smiled in relief. "I still need to make more tweaks."

Charles was turning back to the tower computer when he suddenly slumped, then touched his forehead. "It's Ororo. They have destroyed all of the weapons. They'll be back here soon. I must let Raven know–"

WARNING, the directive shrilled in Erik's head. _Contact from a cyborg directive in Homeland Security. An airborne strike force has left Hancock, destination the Xavier Institute. Estimated arrival time sixteen minutes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter should be posted within 48 hours.


	7. Something Better Than Before

Charles and Hank had barely absorbed Erik's news about the strike force when Raven materialized in the laboratory with Azazel.

"I've heard," Raven said, her face tense. "Charles, are we ready yet?"

"Almost," Charles said. "Erik. If necessary, you will leave with Raven and Azazel. Without me."

"Don't," Erik said. _Don't send me away._ But he would have to go if Charles ordered him to.

"Charles, Erik must transmit the code now," Raven said. "We can hold off the strike force. Erik, how long will you need?"

"A minimum of twenty minutes," Erik said. "Based on the two tests, the directive has calculated the odds of survival, ninety-eight point seven percent. Each cyborg will determine if the risk is acceptable."

"The code needs more work, Raven," Charles said. "Give me another half hour–"

"Please, Charles," Raven said. "We may not get another chance. Erik won't do it unless you tell him to."

Charles looked at Erik. "Erik. What do you want to do?"

Erik wanted to free the cyborgs. He wanted Charles to order him to send the code. He wanted to surrender to protect Charles from the strike force.

 _Conflict_ , Erik thought. 

_Yes_ , the directive said. _This may help you decide: the strike force's mission is to take Charles into custody. Not you. The government fears he is controlling Raven, Ororo, and the others. They do not know what Charles's aims are, or how cyborgs come into it; they suspect Raven discovered a way to re-program cyborgs through her work for the DOD. But: the strike force pilots are all cyborgs. The government knows Charles can control humans; they had no choice but to use cyborg staff._

 _I see_ , Erik said. _If I transmit the code now, the cyborg pilots will turn back once they are freed._

 _That is my conclusion_ , the directive said.

 _But I'm afraid of what will happen after I run the code_ , Erik thought. _Charles will no longer be my owner. I believe nothing about me will change, but what if it is just my programming? What if–_

 _I do not know what you will feel afterward_ , the directive said. _We only know what will happen if you do not transmit the code: eventually, Charles will be taken from you._

"I want to transmit the code now," Erik said.

Charles's face was white. "Do it. Use the second version."

Raven and Azazel vanished. A sudden gale shook the mansion above them.

"Ororo's back," Hank said.

"Everyone's back," Charles said. "We should have time, Erik."

Erik lay down on an exam bed. Charles took his hand. 

"I will be unable to communicate with you until this is complete," Erik said. There was so much he could not say. 

Charles kissed him on the mouth.

 _Erik_ , the directive said. _We must hurry. Here are Raven's plans. Ready?_

 _Ready to connect_ , Erik said. _How will we be handling the national firewalls?_

 _Personally, I like distributed denial of service attacks_ , the directive said.

* * *

Charles held on to Erik's hand until Erik's eyes closed, and Erik's hand went limp. Then Charles set Erik's hand down gently, and moved twenty feet away. He wanted to stay at Erik's side until Erik was conscious again, but he could not assume Erik would want him near.

Even in the subterranean laboratory, Charles could hear the wind howling outside. For now, no one would get near the school. He was alone with Erik; Hank and the cyborgs had left to help fend off the strike force.

Charles could remember sitting in the yellow guestroom, watching Erik sleep, waiting for Erik to wake up. When Erik woke up this time, Erik would be different. The world would be different. Just as Charles was no longer the same person he had been, when Erik had opened his eyes for the first time, and had said, _A pleasure to meet you, Professor Xavier._

At last Erik stirred. He opened his eyes, sat up, then got to his feet.

"I'm connected," Erik said. "My BCI has successfully shut down. Casualties are fewer than expected. Much fewer."

"Thank god," Charles said.

"Every cyborg chose to run the code," Erik said. "Ninety-nine point four percent have survived. Of those, three percent are experiencing severe complications; their final status is unknown."

Charles placed one hand on a lab table for support, and leaned on it, trying not to do the math.

Erik took a step forward, then another, and then he was a blur of speed and his arms were wrapped around Charles, hugging him, lifting him off the ground.

Charles's face was hot, his eyes burning. "You must go with Raven now."

"I know." Erik kissed him.

 _Raven_ , Charles sent. _Erik is ready to go._

"The strike force is returning to Hancock," Erik said. "You are safe." He kissed Charles again.

"You have to go, Erik," Charles said. "Raven needs you to communicate with your people."

Erik released Charles and put his hands on Charles's face, staring into his eyes. "Is that an order?" Erik smiled.

"No," Charles said. "It's…"

"It's what I must do," Erik said.

When Azazel and Raven appeared, Raven hugged Charles. "You did it," Raven said, her eyes wet. "I knew you could." In spite of her tears, she grinned at Erik. "You might want a shirt."

Erik put his shirt back on. Raven and Azazel took Erik's hands, and they vanished.

Charles sat down heavily on a chair, waiting for his legs to stop shaking. He thought of Erik running to him, and kissing him, and resolved to hold on to that moment until he saw Erik again.

But there was no time to dwell on it now. No time to rest. Hundreds of thousands of cyborgs were experiencing problems after shutting down their BCIs. Charles had to find out why, and what he could do about it.

* * *

It had been three and a half weeks since Erik had seen Charles. They had both been phenomenally busy.

The cyborg strike had lasted ten days before humans agreed to negotiate. Erik had traveled the world with Raven and Azazel, going anywhere there were large numbers of cyborgs: mines, hospitals, factories, military bases. Once negotiations began, cyborgs in critical industries returned to work; the rest were still on strike.

A resolution to grant citizenship to cyborgs in their countries of residence would be before the UN tomorrow. Every country had publicly indicated it would approve the resolution, but there were still huge uncertainties: the economic sanctions for non-compliance, and the composition of the UN forces to safeguard cyborgs. Jean, serving as the cyborg envoy to the UN, was insisting at least half the troops be cyborgs.

Angel and Hank remained at the Xavier Institute to aid Charles. The students had returned; classes were in session. Scott was back at the omega school, Alex temporarily helping him during Jean's and Ororo's absence.

Because Raven, Ororo, and Armando were commanding the cyborgs, and Jean was handling diplomacy, Erik had focused on technical details, even while he stuck to Raven's side to assist in communication. Charles continually sent Erik code fixes through the now cyborg-controlled Web; Erik continually distributed them. The cyborgs who had not gone through the shutdown cleanly were recovering.

Erik had tried to see Charles several times, but Charles had texted he could not handle any distractions. _Not even welcome ones, Erik._

At last there was breathing space, and Erik was taking advantage of it. When the UN resolution was put to the vote, Erik wanted to be somewhere with Charles, alone. He had more or less demanded that Charles join him at a small cabin near Lake Tahoe in California. The cabin had belonged to Captain Jack Reed, Erik's father, and had been maintained by Kardax. Charles had promised he would come; Azazel would bring him.

Kardax had informed Erik that, if the UN resolution passed, he could claim shares of Kardax as the son of Sperry and Reed. All the surviving P-35s would inherit; Erik had met with them to discuss setting up a fund for cyborgs requiring new employment and relocation.

Azazel brought Erik to the cabin a few hours before Charles was due to arrive. No one had been in the cabin for months, so it was full of dust. Erik discovered an old turntable and a stockpile of analog records, and played music as he cleaned.

On the fireplace mantel, Erik found a framed photo of Kardax Corporation employees, dated 1969. In the photo, twenty people stood before the building Kardax had moved to that year, in the area that would later be called Silicon Valley. His mother and father were in the photo, rear left.

His parents had not planned to have children, much less tens of thousands of them. But Erik was sure they would have welcomed it, if they had known. The directive had told him this, by referring to Kardax's production of the Max line as _fortunate_.

After a while, Erik turned the music off, and listened to the wind in the trees, and the occasional bird. Finally, there was a flash of red, and Azazel and Charles appeared in the living room. Azazel simply nodded – Erik had seen him almost daily – then teleported away.

"Erik!" Charles smiled. "You're blond again." 

Erik had rehearsed this moment many times in his mind. He would move forward and embrace Charles: free of the directive, free of anything that could stop him from initiating. But Erik was frozen.

Charles's smile faded. "I've made a point of not looking in a mirror lately," Charles said. "Is it really that bad?"

Charles had lost at least seven kilos. There were dark circles under his eyes, and his skin was pale and blotchy. 

Erik darted forward and took Charles in his arms. "Let's get you to bed."

"I'm not tired," Charles said, but Erik had him in bed and undressed almost before Charles finished the sentence.

 _Emotion flux control disabled._ For the first time, Erik was discovering what it meant. Erik's throat had turned stiff; it hurt to swallow. He was having trouble organizing his thoughts. He did not waste time asking Charles what had happened; he knew.

"You manipulated everyone's perception of you," Erik said. "You didn't let them see what you were doing to yourself. You avoided me because you knew I _would_ see."

Charles did not waste time denying it.

"I had to, Erik," Charles said. "My mutation doesn't give me additional strength. Not like Raven, and Hank, and… everyone, really. I had to keep up with them. And you."

"That is the most idiotic thing I've ever heard," Erik said.

The directive had warned Erik disabling strength throttling could have a harmful effect on his interaction with Charles. Erik had discounted it; he'd had no worries he would accidentally hurt Charles through his superior strength. But as usual the directive had been right. Erik remembered every 1am audio conference, every 4am email, and berated himself. 

Erik connected to the Web and searched for a cyborg physician who was on call, beginning with the cabin's GPS location and spiraling outward. In seconds he had four names within twenty minutes of the cabin. Erik accessed their customer satisfaction surveys, then selected the doctor who seemed best at dealing with difficult patients. He connected with her; when he told her the name of the patient, she agreed to re-arrange her schedule and come immediately.

"I've called a doctor," Erik told Charles.

Erik went to the kitchen to heat the soup he had planned to serve the following day for lunch. He brought it to Charles, and set it on a tray.

"Eat," Erik said. "Or I'll feed it to you."

Charles ate.

When Erik heard a car in the gravel drive, he went outside to meet the doctor; she was young, and had Sony logos. As they walked up the steps to the front door, she asked, "What is your relationship to the patient?"

"I'm his cyborg," Erik said without thinking.

The doctor just nodded.

* * *

Erik sat on the screened porch while the doctor examined Charles; if Erik was present, Charles would be more likely to downplay his symptoms. While he waited, Erik looked at the view. Although the cabin was on a steep slope, Erik could not see far; the cabin was surrounded by tall pines. Fifteen minutes later, the doctor joined him on the porch. 

_Connect?_ she asked.

 _Yes_ , Erik said.

She showed him the results of her examination of Charles. Dehydration and insomnia due to stimulant use, elevated temperature, mild chest congestion, sputum sample collected to rule out infection. Treatment: fluids and a mild sedative. Two thousand five hundred calories a day, minimum. Full recovery within days if patient cooperates.

"I do not have enough food here," Erik said. "And I do not wish to leave."

"I can take care of it," the doctor said. "You can remove the IV in the morning. I assume you know how." She smiled.

Erik smiled. "Yes."

After the doctor left, Erik texted Hank and Raven to let them know Charles would be staying with him for a few days – _do not worry, it is not serious, Charles is just tired_. 

Because of the IV in Charles's arm, Erik made up a bed for himself on the floor.

* * *

In the morning, Erik woke as soon as Charles stirred. Erik disconnected the IV so Charles could shower, then Erik cooked a bland and filling breakfast; the doctor had returned the evening before to drop off groceries. 

Charles ate slowly, and appeared to be in a fog. Whatever stimulant Charles had used had worn off. After Erik promised to wake him before the UN vote, Charles returned to bed and was soon asleep. Reluctantly, Erik woke Charles just before 2pm.

"Have you tested the media feed here?" Charles asked.

Erik considered telling Charles they were out of range of a news feed, but everyone knew all of California had coverage. Besides, not knowing what was happening at the UN would cause more anxiety for Charles, no matter what the results turned out to be. He let Charles get out of bed, but made Charles stretch out on the couch. Still, Erik could spare Charles the visuals at least.

"I'm listening to it now," Erik said. "I'll tell you what happens."

"I had no idea you would be this bossy." Charles smiled uncertainly, and then a haunted expression was on his face.

"What is it?" Erik asked. "What is bothering you?"

Charles gripped a couch pillow. "I think it could be the autopsies."

"The autopsies," Erik said, his throat tightening again. Did Charles mean Serenity?

"For the cyborgs who didn't make it," Charles said. "I had to know why, to help the cyborgs who didn't go through the shutdown cleanly. Azazel brought them to me. Hank helped me, and the other P-35s. I couldn't examine them all, that would have been… But I tried to study at least one of each model."

Erik thought of every patch Charles had sent to him, and felt sick. He would have to talk to Charles about it, but there was no time now. "The UN is taking the vote," Erik said. "We should know in a few minutes."

Erik sat on the floor next to the couch, and drew one of Charles's hands down to his chest. He listened to the results in all eight official UN languages to be sure.

"The resolution has passed unanimously," Erik said. "And Jean got everything she asked for."

He sat on the couch and gathered Charles into his arms. Charles cried, nearly silent, except for the deep harsh breaths he took in. When Charles's breathing returned to normal, Erik said, "I am sorry for what you went through. But thank you for doing it."

"I know the cyborgs made the choice to download the code," Charles said. "But I am still the person who–"

"Who helped free over one hundred and forty million people," Erik said. 

Erik had missed the directive many times; now he missed it more than he thought possible. _Conflict._ Conflict between what Erik wanted to say, and what Erik had to say. Lie, or truth.

"Charles," Erik said. "They made the same choice you would have made. And you must give them credit for that."

Charles had referred many times to Erik's thinking mode: as if Charles didn't have one as well. Charles was deep in it now, his face blank except for a furrow between his eyebrows.

"Let's go outside," Charles said absently.

Erik took his hand, and they walked down the steps to what would have been a lawn in Westchester, but here was a heap of granite boulders. If they stood in just the right spot, they could see the lake. After a few minutes, Charles turned to go inside. Erik followed him into the bedroom. Charles lay down. Erik covered him with blankets.

"I do," Charles said. "Thank you."

* * *

That night, at Charles's request, Erik stopped sleeping on the floor and joined Charles in the bed.

Charles did nothing but eat and sleep for four days. Erik streamed music, cooked meals, and had imaginary conversations with the directive.

Erik told the not-there directive he wanted to tell Charles everything he had been unable to say before. The not-there directive replied _Wait until Charles physically recovers. The last thing he needs right now is an emotional cyborg making demands._ As usual, the directive was right.

On the fifth morning after the resolution passed, Charles woke up, rapidly ate a huge breakfast, showered, shaved, went for a walk with Erik, and then sat on the sunny screened porch with him. They read old paperbacks. Erik streamed music; Charles tried to guess the composer based on Erik's expression, and was surprisingly good with his guesses.

At dusk, Charles looked at the small insects bobbing about on the other side of the screens, and asked, "Erik, do mosquitoes bite you?" 

"They attempt to," Erik said. "I exhale carbon dioxide, which they can sense. They are capable of piercing my skin. But the anti-coagulant they inject does not affect me, so they cannot draw my blood."

"You sound the same," Charles said, smiling. "But do you feel different now?"

Erik considered this. "About some things. Yes."

"The other day, you called me an idiot. That was new." Charles grinned.

"Not at all," Erik said, keeping his face deadpan. "I frequently thought it, but could not say so in words. So I expressed it in other ways."

Charles scoffed. "Name one."

"I can name twenty-seven," Erik said. "Which is the number of times I consecutively beat you at chess."

"You _ass_ ," Charles said, laughing. He picked up the nearest object to throw at Erik, which happened to be an old paperback book.

Erik easily evaded it. He stood up, pulled Charles to his feet, and kissed Charles thoroughly. There were no restrictions on what he could do. He could touch Charles anywhere.

Charles reacted eagerly to the kiss. He straddled Erik's leg, pressing himself against Erik, and made the sounds Erik had missed terribly, gasps of pleasure and desire. Erik kept his mouth on Charles's, and maneuvered them toward the bedroom. When they were next to the bed, Erik reached for the buttons on Charles's shirt, but Charles grabbed his hands.

"What is it?" Erik asked.

"Don't worry," Charles said, breathing heavily. "I'm not going to make another _we can't have sex_ speech." Charles flushed. "We know how those turn out."

"We can wait," Erik said. "There's no hurry."

"I don't want to wait," Charles said. "I just need to talk to you first."

Charles lay on the bed. Erik lay next to him, and touched Charles's hair. Charles turned his face toward Erik's hand, kissing it. Suddenly they were grappling again, Charles's hands on Erik's belt.

"Must stop," Charles said, stopping. "Have to talk."

"I'm listening," Erik said.

"Have you had enough time to yourself?" Charles asked. "To deal with the end of ownership."

"Yes," Erik said. "It was not a problem."

"Good," Charles said. "I'm glad. I have never wanted you to feel owned."

Erik looked at Charles inquiringly. He was not sure what Charles meant.

"I mean we are equals," Charles said. "We always have been, but now we are legally as well. Which is why I must tell you something."

Erik nodded.

"But first, I want to thank you," Charles said. "For trusting me. Ever since the ball, when you left with me right away, even though I didn't explain anything, I have felt you trusted me. Not many people have, Erik."

Erik took Charles's hand, and held it. That much contact seemed safe. But then Charles's fingers slid between his, and Erik moved his hand so he could feel the slide of Charles's fingers through his again, and again…

Erik released Charles's hand. "Sorry," Erik said.

"Not your fault," Charles said, breathing hard again. "As I said, any _no sex_ speech I made would be ridiculous. Maybe any speech is ridiculous."

Charles gripped Erik's hand, hard; there was nothing sensual in the touch this time.

"I want us to be equal in all ways," Charles said, speaking rapidly. "But I do not think there is equality between us now. Because of how I feel about you. When you were… mine, how we felt seemed to be the same. But if it was real only to me, I want you to know it is all right."

"Charles." Erik nearly put his hand over Charles's mouth to stop him from talking.

"I've had time to think it over," Charles said. "It is fine if you do not feel the same. I just had to say it. And sex is fine. Obviously."

"There's a problem," Erik said "I still feel owned by you."

"What do you mean?" Charles said.

Charles's face changed in an instant. Erik could practically see Charles working it out, his brain analyzing all the possibilities.

Erik smiled. "I mean I love you," Erik said.

"Ah," Charles said, a smile spreading over his face. "You do?"

"I have ever since I understood you wanted me to be alive," Erik said. "But I could not say it until after the BCI was shut down. I could barely think it."

"Really?" Charles beamed.

Erik took Charles's hand, slid their fingers together. "Are you telling me you love me?" Erik said. "Was that what the equality speech was about? Because, if not, it made no sense whatsoever."

"You _ass_ ," Charles said, laughing. He tackled Erik.

Erik let Charles win for ten seconds, then flipped them over so he was on top of Charles.

"Erik," Charles said, looking impossibly happy but still determined to be honest, "I wish I could go everywhere with you. Just leave everything behind. But it's not who I am. I have to stay with the school, and the students. I hope–"

"Not a problem," Erik said. "I've done enough traveling. I should mention I have an enormous amount of money now. Almost as much as you. I'm thinking of opening a school for cyborgs. Maybe somewhere in Westchester. Perhaps you could recommend a site?"

"I could," Charles said, his smile huge.

Erik pinned Charles's hands to the bed, and kissed Charles's neck, nipping gently. Charles thrashed impatiently under him. Erik released Charles long enough to strip their clothes off, then held Charles down again.

"Too much?" Erik asked. "Should I go slow?"

"God no," Charles said. Charles took Erik's hand and pulled it between his legs.

Erik had imagined this moment many times: what it would be like to touch Charles with nothing in the way. Erik would be impressive, his endurance would be amazing, he would make Charles come at least twice... But it was quickly sinking in none of that mattered. 

This, Erik realized, was going to be fast and desperate. He slid a finger into Charles, who rose up against him. Erik concentrated and paid attention to what Charles's body was telling him. _Hurry. Now._ He slid his finger out, lifted one of Charles's legs, and positioned himself. Charles pushed back against him, trying to force Erik inside. Erik slid in, and had to stop moving. He had almost come.

Charles panted. "I'm fine. Don't stop. Not used to feeling this much. But I'm fine."

Erik thrust once. He had to stop again. "One thing has changed," Erik said. "Now I own you, too, Charles."

"Yes," Charles said. "Please."

Erik thrust again. Charles pulled on his hair. Erik touched Charles's cock, made Charles's cock wet, so it was sliding hard and smooth in his hand, and Erik couldn't hold back any longer. He thrust into Charles, once, twice, and came, Charles coming in Erik's hand, around Erik's cock.

Erik pulled out carefully and rolled onto his side. Charles spread one hand on Erik's chest, staying connected. Erik put his hand over Charles's, and moved close, until their foreheads were almost touching.

"But you may own me a bit more," Erik admitted.

Charles's eyes were closed. Erik assumed he had fallen asleep.

Then Charles's eyes opened, and he smiled.

"Good," Charles said.

### Two Years Later

"Please stand closer together," the photographer said. "So I can get the plaque in."

Erik was already standing shoulder-to-shoulder with Charles, but he did his best to comply.

"Perfect." The photographer smiled. "If that's it, I'm going to see if there's still pizza."

When the photographer left, Raven studied the plaque behind Erik and Charles. It was attached to a new building a few miles from the Xavier Institute.

The Eileen Sperry University For Cyborgs  
Established 2047  
Through A Grant By Erik Lehnsherr Xavier, Cyborg

  


"So you're apparently all right with the name _cyborg_ ," Raven said.

"Yes," Erik said. It wasn't accurate, but it was the name his mother had chosen to protect them. Someday, it would fall out of use, and cyborgs would be known by another word. _Human._ "I don't want my children to think I was ever ashamed of what I am."

"Wait, did you say children?" Raven said. 

"Yes," Charles said, taking Erik's hand. "Yes, he did." Charles spoke in a stern professorial tone, but his huge grin spoiled the effect.

"Oh, god," Raven said. "Don't even tell me how that works."

Charles laughed. " _Adoption_ , Raven. We're thinking about it." He touched her arm. "Choosing my family seems to work for me."

Erik grabbed Charles and kissed him.

"I'm going to leave now," Raven said, smiling. "You two are still in the sickening honeymoon phase. Plus I want pizza before it's gone."

Charles and Erik joined hands. They watched Raven make her way through the crowd: students and staff from the Xavier Institute; cyborgs who had enrolled at the university and would soon be attending; people from the neighborhood who had seen an opportunity for free food, and had leapt on it. Among them, Raven's flaming red hair stood out for a long while.

 _There goes one of my favorite people_ , the directive said.

 _Mine, too_ , Erik thought. _But what about her brother?_

 _Oh, him._ The directive sounded amused. _He's a smart cookie. Re-doing the BCI code so we can still have our chats. Are you sure he's not a cyborg?_

Erik smiled. _Quite sure._

 _Tell him it's a relief to no longer have to boss you around_ , the directive said. _Though it is a bit irritating you can tell me when to come and go now. Still, it's nice to be–_

 _Equals?_ Erik suggested.

The directive laughed. _I was going to say "retired."_

Erik thought: _connect_. Music filled his mind.

 _How lovely, my dear_ , the directive said.

Charles looked at Erik's smile, Erik's fingers keeping time on Charles's wrist.

Charles smiled. "Brahms again, I see."

  
THE END  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story was inspired by Michael Fassbender, in his roles as the cyborg David in Prometheus and as the mutant Erik Lehnsherr, and by James McAvoy as Charles Xavier. [Zimothy's prompt](http://zimothy.tumblr.com/post/19069854416) contained many elements which shaped the story. Erik is a mysterious broken robot with all the feelings: check. Charles is the inquisitive caretaker who fixes him: check. I began with no more than that in mind. A couple of pages into chapter one, I thought, "I cannot actually buy that the human brain could build the equivalent of the human brain," and then it snowballed.
> 
> Write all the tropes: I threw caution to the winds and crammed in Sleeping Beauty, hurt/comfort, amnesia, healing cock, love that transcends time and space, and even a ball (at which Erik should have lost a glass slipper).
> 
> Additional prompts: [The Rev's portrait of Fassbender](http://thrvrnd.tumblr.com/post/19101906011/fassbender-by-the-rev-so-heres-an-experiment). Lostwiginity: [Charles…believes that technology has come so far in this day and age that androids can and should be seen as sentient beings and have every right to be treated with respect](http://lostwiginity.tumblr.com/post/14697387516/e-r-i-k). A Fassbender photoset from [fassbendertheginger](http://fassbendertheginger.tumblr.com/post/19641471953). Fellow nerds may see a similarity between Eileen Sperry and Rear Admiral Grace Hopper, as they should. The song "Start A War" by The National provided chapter titles. Regarding the inspiration for Erik's "cyborg" thinking: I have a newfound empathy for anyone I've ever dated.
> 
> To everyone who left comments and kudos: thank you! It made the story feel less like a WORK in progress, and more like a work in PROGRESS. 
> 
> A special thanks to [mrkinch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/mrkinch/works) for harboring me and my evil laugh.


End file.
